


Ye Wayward Sons

by Beckala



Series: Wayward Sons [1]
Category: Sons of Anarchy
Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut, F/M, FFN repost, Father-Daughter Relationship, Mayan Drama, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-14
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 48,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24721243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beckala/pseuds/Beckala
Summary: She always knew she’d get a call like this.  The overly loud ringer of her phone breaking through the beginnings of sleep and confirming the unusual nature of her life.  She packs quickly, “travel light” running through her mind like a mantra.  She cranks the two seater juke box he bought her to life and relishes the loud rumble of the engine and the low pound of the stereo’s bass. She drives through the night and watches, with tired eyes, as the sun rises in her rear view mirror.  Go west ye wayward sons; Leila Trager is coming home.
Relationships: Chibs Telford/Original Female Character(s), Juice Ortiz/Original Female Character(s), Tig Trager & Original Female Character(s)
Series: Wayward Sons [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1865560
Comments: 41
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

Gunshots shatter the desert night and scatter the congregated men. The weapons, carefully assembled and packed in wooden crates for transport are useless in this fight. Men duck for cover behind whatever they can find and the spray of dust and blood explodes in a nightmare of gore. 

The squeal of tires and a loud burst of Spanish signal the end of the attack, there has been death in the sand tonight. 

* * *

She always knew she’d get a call like this. The loud ringer of her phone breaks through the beginnings of sleep and confirming the unusual nature of her life. She packs quickly, “travel light” running through her mind like a mantra. Cranking the two seater juke box he bought her to life she relishes the loud rumble of the engine and the low pound of the stereo’s bass. She thought the car pretentious when he presented it to her two years before but tonight the constant growl will block out her worries, thoughts, prayers. 

The black on black body of the car cuts like velvet across the deserted highway and she is thankful for the late hour. Tonight she will be nothing but a shadow moving through the world. There is no need to recognize that anything from the last hour is real. 

She drives through the night and watches, with tired eyes, as the sun rises in her rear view mirror. Go west ye wayward sons; Leila Trager is coming home. 

* * *

She stares up at the hospital, smoke from her cigarette like a personal shield. The stark white facade of the building makes her feel dirty by comparison in her tattered jeans and scuffed boots. It is enough to make her pause and stare up a moment longer. She is not sure she’s ready for what’s waiting inside. 

She wraps a lock of hair around her finger, examining the mixed black and purple strands and wonders for a moment if he’ll like her newest dye job. She knows he won’t. The black is too stark against her pale complexion and makes her amber-gold eyes look out of place. She likes the black though, and the bright colors running through it. Might as well let the inside shine out she thinks. He used to love how much like her mother she looked. They were both nothing but peaches and cream, thick brown hair, rose cheeks, and golden eyes. Cat’s eyes he’d told her once. He used to call her mom cat, and she was his kitten. That was before, well, everything. 

“Moment of truth” she whispers softly to herself and stubs out the last of the cigarette under the toe of a boot. 

The hospital’s automatic doors open with a swoosh of cold air and she instantly regrets leaving her leather in the car. It’s December and she wonders if the administration is crazy keeping the internal temp almost lower than the external. Maybe sick people need to stay cold. 

Everything is white. The walls, the floors, even the damn chairs and she is beginning to think she walked into some bizarre alternate reality. Maybe she died on the way out and this is really heaven, but no. Heaven wouldn’t have such an ugly check in nurse. 

The woman, if that’s what she is, looks Leila up and down, “And who are you visiting?” 

“Ti… Alex Trager” 

The nurse doesn’t even need to dig through the pile of papers on the desk and Leila doesn’t miss the way her eyes widen just a bit. It means they’re all here. It can’t mean anything else. Only they could make this type of impression. “He’s family only for visitors, but the rest of your lot are in the third floor waiting room.” 

“I’m his daughter.” Leila forces herself not to look away as she admits the relation. 

Again, the slight widening of the eyes but the nurse sets to work and it only takes seconds for her to put together the visitors badge that will give Leila access to his room. She thanks the gate keeper quietly and moves towards the bank of elevators just off the lobby. She does not need directions, she knows the way to the ICU. It is a trip she has made more than once. 

Unless the hospital has done a major redecoration in the last three years she knows what she’ll find when the elevator doors open on the third floor. She is well acquainted with the stained retro carpet and the hard green chairs that have seen better days. She imagines the same Highlights magazine from May 1996 will still be on the beaten end table, next to the lamp made to look like a giant snail shell. The only difference this time is she’s here for him. Really, it’s charitable of her because she doesn’t remember him ever putting his ass into one of those unforgiving chairs for her. She is certain he’s never cried on the triage nurse’s shoulder or stared at a maze designed to stump six year olds for hours on end hoping the whole experience is just a dream. She slams her fist into the up button on the wall earning a disgruntled hiss from miss “family only” and hopes the doors open before she changes her mind. 

* * *

When the doors of the elevator ding open on the ICU waiting room it is everything Leila hoped for and dreaded all rolled into one. They are everywhere. The smell of blood and leather is overwhelming and it reeks like home and forgotten comforts. She counts six of them and they have taken over the small room in a way only SAMCRO can. Rough men in dark leather armed to the teeth. Leila doesn’t miss the looks and whispers coming from behind the nurses’ desk across the room. She ignores them. 

Gemma is on her feet instantly, she looks good if tired, and is pulling off a man’s flannel shirt in a way only she can. Leila finds herself wrapped in the older woman’s arms before she’s even fully off the elevator and she can’t help but relax into the familiar embrace. 

“Oh baby, how was the drive?” Gemma practically breathes the question into her hair and Leila can’t manage to form a reply. There is no nice way to describe the ten hour race across the desert. 

“Horrible”, she settles for honesty. “How is he?” the question seems the next obvious step. 

“Alive.” That was Clay. Ever the realist. Leila has never known the man to mince words. He, like his wife, has always had a brutal honesty that frightens her. 

“He just came out of surgery,” Gemma adds pushing Leila out to arms length. Leila has no doubt Charming’s queen will have some words for her about the new hair color. Gemma was always a guiding light when it came to biker fashion. “No one’s been allowed in to see him yet, family only and all. We’ve just been waiting for news and you.” 

Leila stares up into the other woman’s stoic face. At 5’9” without heels, Gemma easily dwarfs Leila’s 5’5” frame. She has the added benefit of not having driven for the last ten hours and Leila can’t help but feel disgusting in her travel stained clothes. 

“They gave me a visitor badge downstairs. I guess I should… I’ll check in then and see if I can’t get into his room. Maybe find the doctor.” Leila doesn’t really want to do any of these things but as she glances around the room all eyes are on her. Gemma nods and releases her hold only to let Clay step in for a fierce one armed hug. 

Jax is there next, his blond hair has gotten long and Leila can’t help but notice a few new lines on his familiar face. 

Bobby is a bone crushing hug that lifts her feet from the floor for more than a moment. His whispered “missed you baby girl” making guilt at her long absence coil uncomfortably in her stomach. 

Piney doesn’t hug her, settling for a baked “where have you been?” from his corner chair and Leila doesn’t mind. Piney has never been touchy feely. 

Leila barely spares a glance for the boy in the prospect kutte and he seems to know better than to attempt an introduction. She wonders what kind of person you have to be to tattoo your head. 

The nurses up here are nicer than the dragon downstairs and Leila doesn’t have to wait long before a petite blonde with Violet on her name tag is offering to page the surgeon and pointing her down the hall to room 304. 

“Do you want me to come with you?” Gemma’s offer hangs in the air for a long second before Leila shakes her head. 

“No, I’ll just make sure he’s okay. You should all go home really.” She wants them to leave and let her have her moment in peace. She knows she’ll see enough of them over the next few days. SAMCRO has always been like that. Gemma calls it a family, Leila considers it a form of friendly suffocation. She spent her childhood in this hospital dealing with one “family” emergency after another and she knows that the next week will be nothing but crock-pot dinners and too much talk. She’ll put it off as long as possible. 

“Jax and the prospect will stay to take you home. You can’t travel alone.” Clay is watching her steadily as though daring her to tell him no. She doesn’t. She just nods and turns away. She knows the lockdown protocol. 

* * *

For a moment after she enters the room Leila is shocked. She knew it was going to be bad, Gemma wouldn’t have called her home for some pass-through-get-better-in-three-days-bullshit but she never thought it would look like this. The surgeon caught her just outside the room and explained the basics. He was in critical condition, the bullet hit him in the chest and entered his right lung. They managed to remove it during surgery and had high hopes for his recovery but there was risk. His smoking meant blood clots and the lung, while stable now, had the potential to collapse completely. 

She knows people are supposed to look small in hospital beds. Her mother had looked minuscule at the end, a shrunken version of her former self. Wasting away into nothing until one day Leila came to visit and there’d been nothing left but dirty sheets and tears. Tig, however, can’t seem to help himself and even surrounded by beeping monitors with an oxygen mask on he still looks larger than life to her. His eyes are closed but she expected that; the doctor said he probably wouldn’t wake for several hours yet. 

Leila eases into the chair by the bed and reaches out for his hand on impulse careful not to disturb the IV lines. She hates seeing him like this. In her entire life she has never known her father to come to the hospital for an injury. He’s a “slap some dirt on it and stop crying” kind of guy and she’s come to rely on that characterization. He was never a good father. She doubts even he would argue with that statement but he was always her father. She still remembers beating the shit out of Tanya Peterson in the fourth grade because the bitch had the audacity to call him biker scum. Leila doesn’t think she’ll ever forgive him for not being there when her mom was dying or for the way he sank into a bottle of Jack after the funeral leaving Gemma to try and take care of what should have been his responsibility or what came next but Leila never wanted this. 

The tears are a surprise and for a moment Leila tries to ignore them but they’re there all the same. The man once literally got her killed and here she was crying over a damaged lung. She feels a bit like an addict who just can’t help herself. He dished out the pain three years ago and now here she was coming back for more. At the same time she can still remember what it felt like to believe that he’d literally hung the moon and the stars in the sky just so she could use them as a night light. She wondered what wrong she’d committed in a past life to have earned these punishments. 

She dries her eyes on the edge of his bed sheets, feeling a bit vindicated when her eye makeup leaves a long black streak. She illogically hopes the bitch nurse downstairs gets laundry duty the next day. “I have to go now Daddy, but I’ll be back tomorrow when you’re awake.” She would be. “I love you” and she did, because if there was one thing Tig Trager did right as a father it was the installation of a firm sense of family. Tig, SAMCRO, the whole of Charming it was family and family always came first. She may have hated him once, she might still, but that didn’t mean she got to turn her back. She wouldn’t stay though, family obligation was one thing but she had a life worth getting back to in Salt Lake. Family was important but she sure as hell wasn’t going to get sucked into SAMCRO again. 


	2. Chapter 2

The escort home from the hospital turned into an escort to the SAMCRO clubhouse. Jax declared Tig’s sometimes apartment the “most disgusting example of a living space I’ve ever seen” and Leila refused to go to Gemma’s. She knows the queen would hover and cook and baby and Leila doesn’t feel up to the challenge. 

The clubhouse hasn’t really changed in her absence and Leila doesn’t know whether to be comforted or appalled. There are still peanut shells scattered on the floor, Harley memorabilia covers the walls, and she catches sight of at least two half naked croweaters spread across various furniture. Despite it being close to midday the garage is closed and the clubhouse is mostly empty. Jax leaves her at the door with firm orders not to leave and she is too tired to ask where he thinks he’s going with that I’m-a-complete-badass look on his face. She doesn’t miss a heavily armed prospect taking up a guard post. It’s almost too much. 

Tig’s dorm is military clean. She hadn’t expected anything less. Her father might be a slob in his private space but his dorm technically belonged to the club and the club was business just as much as it was family. She takes in the neatly push-pinned posters over the bed, a set of very naked twins stare down at her in a come hither way. His boots are shined and lined up at the edge of the closet, his clothes pressed and hung in order of color, Leila wonders which SAMCRO whore he convinced to do his ironing. The man always had had a way with women. These thoughts aren’t going to take her far though, she’s much too tired. Without ceremony she rips back the old green army blanket, disturbing the peace of the perfectly made bed, kicks off her boots and crawls in. Trying desperately not to think about when the last time the sheets where changed or what has happened in the bed since, she quickly slips into a very welcome sleep. 

* * *

It is dark outside when her golden eyes snap open and for a moment she lays still every muscle in her body protesting the idea of movement. For so called “biker scum” her father happens to have a very comfortable mattress. 

There’s a shout from somewhere in the buiding. She is pretty sure it is the shouting that woke her in the first place. It echoes up the hallway and into the room shocking her out of the loose feeling of new awakening. Leila reacts on instinct. Like a soldier with PTSD all the little habits she’s spent the last three years trying to abandon come roaring back and she’s out of the bed, reaching for the 9mil she knows Tig keeps in the nightstand drawer before her bare feet hit the ground. 

There’s no point bothering with boots, and within seconds she has the safety off and is padding down the hallway towards the main room. “Jeysus Christ!” another yell rings out, the accent unfamiliar and it is followed by quieter voices. 

The scene that greets her, JT’s refurbished bike at her back, is wholly unexpected and yet, not surprising. Everything seems to be that way in Charming. The source, a man she has never met is still going, ringing off a series of curses in a foreign accent, Irish maybe, Scottish? Gemma is standing near his head and seems to be talking softly to him even as Jax and the prospect are attempting to hold him still on top of the bar. Bobby is at his thigh, needle and thread in hand. There is blood everywhere. 

“What the fuck” she whispers it more to herself than to the ridiculous group of people at the bar but it must have been louder than she thought because Gemma’s head snaps around like she heard a shot. Leila is quick to safety the glock and tuck it into the back of her jeans, settling her sweatshirt over the gun. Gemma doesn’t miss a beat but doesn’t comment on it, instead she pulls away from the injured man. 

“Did we wake you baby? I’m sorry. The Scots being a pussy about a little knife wound” the queen’s eyes cut back to the man on the bar in frustration. 

“A little… a little knife wound. The bloody bastard about took off my left leg” The injured man is fierce looking with angry brown eyes and scarred cheeks. He is, however, also wearing a kutte and while Leila can’t see his patch she knows Bobby wouldn’t attempt sutures for anyone not SOA. “Who’s the lil’ bit?” 

Leila scowls at his question and for a moment she considers pulling the gun out again but she settles for turning to Gemma, “Is there any coffee?” 

“Of course baby, in the kitchen” Gemma nods towards the open door behind them and Leila, ignoring Bobby’s stare, he used to lecture her about drinking caffeine after 5pm heads around the bar. She is careful to dodge the Scot’s feet as she moves, clapping Jax on the shoulder. 

“I’m going to head back to the hospital soon. Do I still need an escort… or has the problem been taken care of?” She throws a significant glance at the injured man. 

“You’ll need an escort” Jax grits out the words, still holding the injured man’s leg still and Leila can tell he’s not happy. Things must be bad if she can’t drive alone, after dark, within city limits. 

By the time she’s done making herself a cup of coffee Bobby has finished with the stitches and is washing his hands in the kitchen sink. He winks at her “I’ve never seen a man take more pain in the ring but be such a pussy about anything that requires needle and thread” Bobby nods at the Scot who is now sitting up at the bar nursing a bottle of whiskey and… was he pouting? Leila can’t help her smile. 

“What’s going on here Bobby?” she asks the question even though she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want the answer. “I mean Tig shot up in the hospital, a bloody brother on the bar, everyone looks wary” 

Bobby sighs and dries his hands on a kitchen towel, “We’ve had a rough couple years without you kiddo. The Mayans are on us like a croweater who spotted an engagement ring. Your daddy, he was torn up during a gun transfer gone wrong. They came down on us out of nowhere, two niners are dead and Clay barely managed to drag Tig out of the line of fire.” 

“And the Scot?” she can’t help but ask. Now that he’s sitting she can see that he’s a full patched member. He wasn’t around when she left. 

“He got cut attempting recon, we were going to attempt retaliation. Chibs, however, never got the gift of grace and managed to get, as he would say, ‘a wee bit caught” Bobby chuckles at his own joke and Leila glances at the man at the bar. Chibs? What a weird fucking name. If his shouting is any gauge she’s not surprised he got caught, he looks like a loud man. 

“How long has he been around?” She asks taking a sip of her drink. 

“He’s a patchover from Belfast” Bobby continues, “Just a bit of the UK to try and placate the IRA fuckers.” She nods at that. 

“I”m going to go get ready to head back to the hospital” She ignores Bobby’s pointed look and coffee in hand heads back to the dorm.

* * *

Jax takes her to the hospital on the back of his bike, the prospect who’s name she now knows is Juice trailing a length behind. It’s a blast from the past to climb onto Jax’s familiar FXR and wrap her arms around him. It reminds her of high school and the days when she was still a SAMCRO princess and Jax’s surrogate baby sister. She can’t help the twinge of her old crush as she presses her thighs into the outside of his at every corner but that childhood love is long dead. Jax never had eyes for anyone but Tara in high school and even though the dark haired woman is long gone Leila has no doubt he’s still carrying that torch. 

They practically fly into the hospital’s parking garage and Leila can’t help but feel a bit exhilarated from the ride. She missed the wind in her face on the back of a bike. The hospital doesn’t look anymore welcoming this evening and Leila still feels haggard by comparison in the same ratty jeans and peacock blue thermal. At least she remembered her leather this time. 

It’s a different nurse at check in but they get the same knowing look. It’s a bit fear and a bit respect, Leila just snatches the badge away and heads for the elevator. They lose Juice to the smells of the cafeteria before they step inside the drab carriage and Jax punches the button for the third floor. 

“How’s it been out there in Mormon-town?” Jax’s question momentarily drowns out the soothing elevator music. 

“It’s fine. I’ve got a decent set up, my own place and all that nonsense” She wants so badly to pretend they are what they appear; family catching up during a friendly visit. 

“You still tattooing?” His sarcastic smile tells her everything she needs to know about his opinion on the matter. Out of everyone Jax was the angriest when she packed her car three years ago and hit the road. She knows he understood, deep down, but he couldn’t help making the comparison between her and Tara. All the women in his life have left him when things got hard, Gemma has been his only constant and Leila is well aware of how unhealthy that relationship is. 

“Yea, I manage the shop too. All those accounting skills Bobby taught me are finally coming in handy” Jax just nods at her reply. She remembers how he yelled the day she left. The money he tried to push into her hands. Start your own shop here he’d begged. She had ignored him, dragging her still recovering ass into her car and left. Salt Lake and the aunt she had there the only thing on her mind. 

The ICU waiting room hasn’t changed in the hours she’s been gone. It still reeks of sadness and lost hope. She checks in with a cheery looking nurse and heads down the hall. Jax doesn’t follow. 

She pauses outside the door of room 304 and takes a moment to try and force the tension out of her shoulders. She checks the time on the clock over the nurses station, 8:30 pm, maybe he woke up and already went back to sleep. Maybe she won’t have to actually face him. It would be easier if he just slept through his entire recovery, then she could go back to Salt Lake without ever having to talk to him. She’s never been that lucky. 

When she finally pushes open the door she is surprised to see Clay settled into the chair beside the bed. The older man’s head is bowed low and he is whispering to her father softly, his lips barely moving. Their heads snap up at her arrival and Tig’s bright blue eyes find hers across the room. They’re clearer than she had expected, considering. Clay spares her a smile, mutters once more and she swears she hears the words ‘slit’ and ’throat’. She chooses to pretend she didn’t. 

Clay starts forward, clapping a heavy hand on her shoulder and she forces herself to look up into his eyes. She’s been scared of Clay since she was a child and it is sometimes hard to pretend he’s just another friendly uncle. “Who brought you over?” His voice is cold. 

“Jax and the prospect” she replies and she is careful to look at a spot near his left eyebrow. She can’t stomach this much Clay this soon. 

“I’ll leave the prospect to take you home” Clay says quietly, “I need Jax. Take care of our man baby girl.” She just nods and without a backwards glance Clay has left the room. 

“Kitten?” Tig’s voice is wispy and sounds just like it should considering his damaged lung. She can’t help but notice how loud his breathing is without the oxygen mask. She hates that it breaks her heart just a little. 

“Hey daddy” He’s watching her with his bright blue eyes. Scanning her face and she knows he’s cataloging changes. She’s thinner than she was two years ago, a bit taller, a bit fuller in the right places. Leila is proud of the growing up she’s done since the first and last time he came to visit her in Utah. 

“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” Leila can’t help the smile that spreads her face. Moment of truth indeed. 


	3. Chapter 3

“I knew you wouldn’t like it.” She watches his face warily wondering why he chooses her hair as their first topic of conversation in two years. “Are Fawn and Dawn going to come?” She decides to change the subject before they get too far down any one road. 

“I don’t even know if Gemma called them.” His eyes widen at her question and she knows he’s wondering when she got so comfortable asking about his other family. She doesn’t mind the two younger girls to be honest although she can do without their mother. Leila can still remember her own mother’s fury when Tig told her he’d married the crazy bitch who eventually popped out his rhyming spawn. 

Leila’s mother, Margaret Carson, was a croweater who got knocked up on accident and while Tig was devoted to Leila in his own way he never really managed to settle into a truly romantic relationship with Margaret. He paid Leila’s bills, took her out on occasion, and on nights when he went to Margaret’s bed for comfort was there to make morning pancakes but was otherwise absent from his kid’s early life. If it hadn’t been for Gemma pushing him to be around more after her mother’s initial cancer diagnosis Leila doubts she would have ever gotten to know him. Fawn, Dawn, and their mother Colleen had the added hurtle of distance, living six hours from Charming and Leila doubted Tig managed to see them more than a few times a year. It was a situation she’d become accustomed to. 

“C’mere,” he’s motioning her closer to the bed and she’s helpless to do anything but comply, sinking down into the chair Clay vacated. Tig reaches out for her hand and she doesn’t miss the way his fingers run over the ring on her thumb. The curving silver of the spoon handle with SAMCRO engraved on it has been a constant on the thumb of her left hand since he put it there three years ago. “For protection, just in case” he’d told her. She’s used it twice. 

“You look different than you did, it’s not just the hair. You grew up when I wasn’t looking” He gives her a small smile with the words and she’s suddenly angry at him. The emotion pools at the base of her spine, the beginnings of a rage she knows she inherited from him. 

“I’ve done most of my growing when you weren’t looking” She doesn’t keep the venom from her voice. He drops his eyes and she feels a bit vindicated. She traces her finger over the tattoos on his knuckles, SONS, one letter per finger. She was the one who inked it there, her very first tattoo. Bobby tricked Tig into drinking an entire bottle of Jack before he was drunk enough to let her put the needle to him. 

“Don’t be like that, I’m a broken man” Tig tries again and Leila just rolls her eyes. 

“I can’t say I expected different,” she admits, “I’ve been waiting for that damn prepay to ring since the day I left.” 

“Are you going to stay for long? Or are you just here to see if it’s time for that large inheritance I once promised you?” His final attempt at humor falls flat in the seriousness of the situation but she tries a small smile for him all the same. 

“I’ll stay till you’re out of the hospital and settled somewhere to recover or at least pretend to recover. Sound good?” She doesn’t know why she’s asking his permission. She’s supposed to be done wanting his approval, maybe there are some things that really never change. 

“Yea, baby, that sounds good. It’ll be nice to have you around. Be careful though.” For a moment she thinks he means because of the attack but he takes a shuddering breath and continues, “Gemma, Gemma will have you tied down for Christmas plans if you don’t get out of here in time.” She smiles. Even full of Mayan bullets he manages to hit on the important concerns. His blue eyes are shining as he realizes he’s finally gotten a real smile out of her. She drops his hand. 

“You know me, I’m not as easily tricked. It’ll take more than the promise of good food to keep me here for more than a week. I have too much to get back to” She tries and fails to sound firm. Tig attempts a chuckle but it ends up a gasping noise that makes her stomach churn. 

He catches his breath after a long moment, “Are you still fucking that lanky asshole?” 

She rolls her eyes, “That only happened once and it will never happen again, not after you kicked your way into my bedroom with no warning and a gun drawn.” She can still remember the absolute terror in Mark’s eyes when Tig came through the door of her small bedroom, eyes wild, .45 drawn. 

“I thought you were being attacked,” Tig will never stop trying to defend that particular mistake and she knows it. “You know I never meant to raise a screamer, but I’m proud I did.” He attempts a dirty wink and she wonders if all fathers and daughters talk to each other like this. 

A glance at the clock confirms that it’s past time for her to be gone, she’s surprised the smiley nurse hasn’t popped her head in yet. Leila assumes its because of the kutte hung over the room’s armchair. “I have to go, I’ll be back tomorrow. Do you want me to bring you anything?” 

“Booze and blonde pussy.” He keeps a straight face even through her own splutter and blush. “I’ll see what I can do,” she whispers softly, leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead. 

His hand catches in her hair and she’s forced to meet his unnervingly bright eyes, “I love you kitten. Stay hard.” 

“Love you too. Sleep. I’ll make sure Clay sends someone up to watch the door. I’m pretty sure we’re still on lockdown protocol.” He just nods along and she has no doubt Clay slipped him a piece during the earlier visit. She feels his eyes on her back until she steps out into the too bright hallway and wonders why a father’s protection has never really made her feel safe. 

* * *

She finds the prospect in the waiting room, head tattoos and all. He’s settled into one of the hard green chairs playing, of all things, a gameboy. She watches him for a moment, amused at the way he leans to the left and right following with his body the path of motorcycle on the screen. It’s childlike in a way that seems out of place in the drab room. 

He jumps when she claps a hand on his shoulder, his big brown eyes wide. “Sorry,” he mutters, “I thought you were the nurse, she got onto me for being too loud a bit ago.” Leila feels out of her element, unsure of what to do with what appears to be an overgrown boy in an SOA kutte. 

She settles on a change of subject, “Are you ready to take me back?” 

“Yea, absolutely!” He literally bounces out of the chair and she knows immediately he’ll not only get his top rocker but will prove a good brother. He’s taller than she thought, towering over her own petite frame and appears to be nothing but tightly wound muscle and energy. “The bike’s outside and I got this new exhaust system, just wait till you hear it. There’s a helmet for you too, Jax made sure to leave his spare since I don’t have one. Lucky I put the bitch seat on this morning just in case, not that you’re a bitch, or well… you’re Tig’s daughter, so you can’t really be…” He trails off and she realizes she’s been staring while he’s been rambling. 

“Right,” she mutters not sure what to do with all that personality, “Let’s go then.” 

“After you,” he says, motioning with his arm for her to move towards the elevators. She moves forward amused to no end when he tucks the gameboy into the inside pocket of his kutte. It’s got to be the first time that’s ever happened. 

* * *

His bike is the required unmarked white Harley, although Leila takes great pains to compliment him on the new exhaust. He seems pleased with himself as he all but jumps into the saddle holding the spare helmet out to her with a smile. 

It is always hard to get used to riding with a new man. Harder for Leila, while she grew up around the bikes their rumble the soundtrack to her childhood, she has never felt completely at home on them. She much prefers a drop-top cage to be honest. Over the years she developed an amazing comfort in riding with Tig, trusting him not to lay them down on some hot highway. Jax too, is easy to ride with, Gemma’s endless threats to her son about not killing her favorite Tigger offspring developed into a sense of safety for Leila. Juice, however, is either completely oblivious to her nails trying to dig through his kutte and into the skin of his chest or he likes the feel of her pressed up against him too much to care. He is wild. She assumes he is going the speed limit but at one point he takes a right turn so fast she feels the side of her old riding boot scrape the tarmac and thanks god she decided against weaker shoes. 

They come screaming into the Teller Morrow lot and Leila is pretty sure she had a heart attack three blocks back but stays seated, trying to hide her shaking, until Juice walks the bike back into his usual parking space. He’s all grins as he hands her off the bike, accepting the spare helmet with a wink. She has the momentary urge to slap the cocky grin off his handsome face but forces it down, no need to channel Gemma. 

“Juicey-boy!” The shout rings across the lot and Leila is unsurprised to find the Scot, Chibs, as it’s source. He’s shirtless, leaning on the ropes of the clubs old boxing ring and damn. The foreign man is nothing but long lanky muscle, obviously a boxer in his prime, his knuckles are taped but even from here Leila can see where he’s not putting full weight on his injured leg. 

“Come on,” Juice is already pulling her across the dark lot towards the ring, “You have to see Chibs’ right hook.” She is helpless to do anything but follow in his wake. 

“No right hooks tonight I’m afraid,” the Scot says and as they get closer Leila can see he’s covered in sweat, obviously his workout was harder with a bum leg. “I’m having enough trouble dancing around the ring without trying to add balancing punches into the mix,” he continues, “I might have to back out of this weekend.” 

It is obvious from the noise Juice makes in his throat backing out of the fight would be an utter tragedy. “I guess you could,” Juice says, “I don’t think Clay’s put down the bets yet, but it’d be fucking lame. All because that Mayan got your leg.” 

“He more than got it.” The Scot growls and it is obvious his pouting from earlier is not yet over. 

“Right, right,” Juice continues, “Chibs have you have met Leila yet?” The question startles Leila out of her obvious daze and she forces herself to focus fully on the conversation. 

“Can’t say I have,” the Scot says, and she doesn’t miss the once over he gives her, “at least not officially, she was here this afternoon though, right?” This last part is directed at her and Leila nods. 

“Yea, I um was present for the dressing of your grievous war wound.” The boxer’s loud laugh startles her and proves the earlier assumption true, this is a man who just can’t help but be loud. 

“That’s it darlin’,” the Scot laughs, “finally someone who will take the sacrifices I make for this club seriously.” She doesn’t miss Juice’s rolled eyes and it seems neither does Chibs, “Don’t roll yer eyes at me boy. I saw ya come tearing in here, girl looked fit to cry.” This statement is punctuated with a pointed finger and Juice has the decency to look a bit abashed. 

“I didn’t take it too fast, did I?” The prospect is looking at her with eyes that beg she answer in the negative. 

“No, it wasn’t that bad,” Leila can’t help but try and make him feel better. Knocking him down now would be like kicking a puppy. 

“Don’t listen to her,” Chibs barks, jumping down from the raised platform of the ring and lighting a cigarette from the pack on the table, “I could see her shaking from here.” He turns to her, blowing the smoke from his first inhale skyward and Leila can’t help but watch it rise, loving the way the smoke twists around the flood lights above. “Don’t worry darlin’ if Juicey’s too fast for ya I can take you for a nice slow ride, it’ll be hard though.” She catches the double entendre even as Juice starts to stutter next to her and she lets a slow smile slide across her face. She knows what she looks like, she knows how men think about her, all tight limbed and bedroom eyed but she’s never been one to back down. 

She slides up to the Scot, his eyes widen in surprise when her small hand lands on his tattooed chest. “I’d like that,” she all but purrs, “but I think I’d have to ask my daddy before I got on the back of a bike with the likes of you.” His smile just gets bigger, “Oh yea,” he asks, “and who’s your daddy?” 

“Tig Trager.” 

She doesn’t wait to see his eyes widen or mild panic slide across his scarred cheeks. Instead she turns on her heel heading for the clubhouse door and the glorious bed she knows is waiting for her on the other side. She is bone weary and playing with the Scot took her last bit of energy. The last thing she hears before the old wooden door shuts out the night is a muffled curse from the Scot, “Couldn’t have mentioned that when ya introduced her could you” and a yelped “I thought you knew!” from Juice. Maybe there’d be just one right hook tonight. 


	4. Chapter 4

_There’s blood everywhere. Her blood, she can literally feel it pumping out of the hole in her side with each beat of her heart. It burns, and she can hear yelling somewhere above or beside her. A woman is screaming and Leila wants them to stop she tries to move but as she shifts forward the screaming only gets louder and she realizes it’s her. She’s the one yelling and so she stops but she can’t stop the literal river of red running over her hands, out onto the pavement._

_Lights flash and there are new voices, more yelling. She knows the exact moment when her heart stops because everything goes quiet. The world is still and dark and cold. She doesn’t mind. The pain of the paddles on her chest is unexpected, once, twice, three times and then there’s light. Blinding, overwhelming. She screams just to make it stop._

Leila snaps straight up in the bed, her body going rigid with the shock of the nightmare. She hasn’t relived the shooting in over a year but she should have known coming back to Charming would bring up all that pain again. Hell, she’s walked by or driven over the place where it happened at least a dozen times in the four days she’s been in town. She knows for a fact if she stands on Tig’s bed and stretches up on her toes she can see the spot, the curb across from the lot entrance. Hers was the first SAMCRO blood spilled by an enemy in Charming in twenty years. She’s surprised they didn’t put up a fucking monument. 

Something austere, black marble with chrome accents. “This is where Leila Trager was dumb enough to get shot in the stomach and start a years long gun war with the Mayans.” Yeah, she’d leave flowers at the base of something classy like that. 

Really, it _was_ stupidity that got her shot. That and thinking she could attempt to date someone prospecting for a club unfriendly to SAMCRO. Even then, dating is a strong word for what she and Jorge were getting to. It had been more casual flirtation than anything else. She liked to call him George just to piss him off. Now she has to deal with the knowledge that Jorge might have been the man holding the gun that shot Tig. 

Fucking Mayans. It’s hard to find sympathy for a group of men who think it’s a test of loyalty to shoot the white girl you’ve been rubbing up on. She likes to think he hit her in the stomach because he couldn’t bring himself to pull off a head shot. She likes to think a lot of things.

She slides her fingers up under her shirt in the dark, it takes no effort to find the scar settled just above her right hip. It shows when she wears a short top or a bikini. Mark thinks it makes her look hard, “sexy” he’d called it. He wanted her to get a gun inked next to it. She’d rather not draw attention to the greatest shame of her life. 

She settles back into the comfort of the mattress and closes her eyes. It’s still late and she feels like she has a long way yet to go. 

* * *

“…so then Tig tells her she _has_ to get in the van or he’s going to take her back to the baby store. Bastard pulls out a receipt and everything, tells her he only paid $6 for her and Leila’s crying and carrying on there in the middle of the parking lot and we’re all a mess; no idea what to do.”

“But what about…” 

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there. So Leila’s sobbing up a storm and you have to imagine it right; she’s, what, like two?”

“Four”

“Right so she’s like four and at four this kid was nothing but red cheeks, brown curls and these big giant gold eyes and she’s looking up at Tig all weepy begging him not to take her back to the baby store but still refusing to get into the van with the dead hooker. You have to understand man, Tig’s going crazy and Clay, oh my god Clay-“

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, I was the calmest one there.”

“No man, Clay’s losing his mind. It’s John that finally settles things. Just picks her up. No idea why none of us thought of it, but JT, he just scoops the kid up and puts her shotgun. Makes Tig ride in the back with the dead hooker.” 

“Made sense really, Tig’s the one accidentally offed her.”

“How did he come up with the Baby Store? That bastard is fucked up.”

“That’s a great bit of family history, Thanks Bobby.” Gemma is attempting to look frustrated at the memory but fails miserably as a smile overtakes her face. 

Leila, for her part, stays quiet letting the babble of voices wash over her and leans forward to snag another of Bobby’s muffins. She doesn’t remember much about the Hooker Incident to be honest. The only thing that clearly stands out is that it was one of the few times she got to spend the night at the clubhouse as a child. She also remembers Tig being absent for several months after Leila revealed the nights activities to her mother over breakfast. She never really had a hope of turning out normal. 

They’re all gathered around the bar in the main room of the clubhouse. It’s early, just before the garage is set to open, and all of the men have gathered to grab a muffin and catch up before the work day begins. They look normal like this and to an outsider they could almost pass for a large interracial family. 

There are no kuttes in sight and she is 90% sure she is the only one at the table packing any heat. Tig’s nightstand gun hasn’t left the back of her jeans or the inside pocket of her leather since the day she arrived. Her nightmare only hours earlier, acting as confirmation that armed is definitely the way to go in Charming-town. 

“What’s wrong with ya darlin’, not interested in reliving the good ol’ days?” Chibs’ voice startles her out of the daze and her plate rattles when she jumps. Ever since the first night out by the ring the Scot seems more than happy to turn up in the most unexpected of places and he’s always full of quiet snarky remarks and flirty looks. For a man who’s confessed to being bad at sneaking he’s doing a damn good job of sneaking up on her. He’d even gone so far as to show up at the hospital unannounced to give her a _ride_ home. She hadn’t thought Juice could lose his natural bounce but he certainly went still when Chibs told him to head home alone. 

Leila hadn’t been able to make herself care too much. 

That had been the day Jax and Clay showed up with bad news about something club related and Tig had managed to work himself into such a state he tore three stitches. She’d been far too concerned with the wildly beeping monitors and doctor’s with bloody hands in her father’s hospital room to get in the middle of a dick measuring contest over who got to drive her home. Fuck that shit. 

“Cat got ya tongue?” She almost jumps a second time and she realizes Chibs has been staring at her steadily waiting for an answer to his original question. She opens her mouth to deliver a scathing reply but is cut off by her personal phone sounding shrilly from the pocket of her pajama pants. Saved by the bell. “Sorry Glasgow but we’ll have to continue this conversation later.” 

“Aye little girl, we will,” he gives her a cheeky grin and a wink but she’s already out of her seat and headed for one of the picnic tables outside. 

“Hey Mark, how’s the shop?” She leans back on the rough wood of the table, glad she remembered her coat, and lights a cigarette. Mark had been calling almost daily, he claimed to ask for help with the shop. It seemed in the four or so days she’d been gone he’d completely forgotten where they kept, well, everything. She knows he’s really calling to make sure she’s okay and dig up info on the club. He’d never really understood what SAMCRO meant in regards to family, Mark heard MC and was immediately distrustful. She hadn’t helped anything when she’d gotten drunk two years ago and slept with him. Between Tig and the giant scar over her hip she’d ended up telling him most of what happened at the drive by, the non-member version anyways. 

“The shop’s good, everyone’s alright. Angie misspelled a girlfriend’s name in a back piece yesterday so that was a bitch to straighten out but I think we made amends okay” Leila can practically see him in her mind’s eye. Tall and thin, pushing too long blonde hair out of his eyes while he talks. If it wasn’t for all his tattoos Mark would certainly look more at home on a Santa Monica beach than at the shop. 

“Angie did what? How could you have possibly made that okay Mark?” Leila can feel her blood pressure rising to biblical proportions. Mark may own the shop, thanks to a sizable inheritance; but Leila was the one who had walked in to the dirty, barely surviving studio, demanded a job and over the last three years made it _the_ place to get a tattoo in Salt Lake. Angie was Mark’s newest hire and Leila had no doubt that decision had been made with the smaller of his heads. “Mark you can’t just let her get away with shit like that. People don’t come to a tattoo shop that makes stupid but _very_ permanent mistakes. You have to fire her. We can’t keep her after this.” 

There’s a long pause, “I can’t fire her.” 

“Why not, this is what, like, her six millionth strike. What about the fucking spider with seven legs, or that baby’s face. Mark she made that woman’s baby look like Chucky. The girl has absolutely no talent!” Leila’s hitting her stride now and she knows if they were face to face Mark would have already agreed to let the little bitch go. Leila would be putting together the walking papers at this very moment. 

“I might have,” there’s an even longer pause this time and Leila is not so stupid to think she’s going to like what he has to say next. “I knocked her up.” 

For a second Leila actually feels her hand reaching around for the gun tucked into her back on instinct, whether she’s going to shoot the phone or herself she’ll never know. Deep breath. “Leila, are you there? Look I know, I know I fucked up but I do like her and I mean she wants to keep the baby. I can’t let her go when she’s going to be raising my kid.” What a _fucking_ disaster. “Leila… Leila?”

“I’m here.” 

“I was going to wait until you got back to tell you. You know, cause of all the shit you’ve got going on out there. How is that by the way?”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT, you DO NOT get to tell me you knocked up the dumbest bitch this side of the Appalachians and then ask me how _my_ business is going.” 

“I know, I know, god, I’m sorry okay. I’m just worried about you.” She can tell he means it. Deep breaths. 

“Okay. I’m sorry. Things are tense out here and now apparently things are tense back there too. Look I can’t help you deal with the baby fallout just yet but the shop we can handle. Fire Katrina, we just hired her two months ago and she can barely read as it is. Tell Angie you want her off the gun until after the baby comes, tell her… tell her you’re worried blood exposure, disease and shit. Bitch will eat that crap right up. We’ll figure out what to do after the baby after the baby.” She’s almost proud she found a solution so quickly. Although she can’t help the twinge of regret for Katrina, the teen was dumb but friendly. 

“That’s great Leila. Okay, I’ll take care of it.” She can see his slow, warm smile and just knows he’s nodding his head. Leila Trager, daughter of biker scum saves the day yet again. “I really am sorry about all of this, you know…” She cuts him off before he gets any further because she knows where this conversation is headed. He’ll say something about how he had always hoped they would work out, she would make up excuses for why she was always emotionally distant and they’d both end up awkward and stuck. If there’s one lesson growing up SAMCRO teaches a girl it’s that people outside the MC life will _never_ understand MC life. 

“It’s fine Mark. I shouldn’t have yelled. Like I said things are tough out here.”

“You’re coming back though right? You’re not going to stay or something?” She has no idea what she’s doing. 

“Yes, I’ll be back as soon as Tig is out of the hospital. They’re supposed to take him off critical today.” She wants this phone call to be over so much she can taste it. “We’ll talk soon. Congratulations I guess.”

“Yeah, thanks. Talk soon.” 

She snaps the phone shut and throws herself back onto the picnic table. Deep breaths. She doesn’t feel loss so much as empty. She hates Charming. 

“Rough morning?” Gemma’s voice is nothing but motherly concern and Leila relaxes into the possibility of letting someone else be in charge for a change. 

“Just weird news from home.” She doesn’t miss Gemma’s raised eyebrow at “home” being Utah. 

“Don’t worry about it. Tig’s getting moved down to normal care in three hours how about I drive you over this time. We’ll get one of the boys to follow us, I know you’re probably tired of playing musical bitch seat.” Leila just nods too exhausted from her sleepless night to argue and too spent from the emotional upset of the week to have any sort of conversation about the recent increase of sexual tension in her life. 

“I’ll go get ready.”

She heads for the door just as the guys are pushing up the metal gates of the garage. They look normal in their mechanics work shirts, wallet chains discarded to avoid accidental scratches, rags hanging out of their pockets. “Why can’t we just all be a normal family for once?” 

She doesn’t even realize Gemma is still standing beside her, eyes trained on the same sight until she answers, “Oh baby, it wouldn’t be near as much fun.”


	5. Chapter 5

Leila knew the rest of her Thursday was only going to get worse the minute she walked into the hospital room and found Clay and Tig with their heads together. She knew those faces, postures, plans; these were men in the midst of scheming. She could only hope none of the schemes involved her. 

“Hey daddy. Clay.” She forces a smile for the SAMCRO president before turning her eyes to her father. Tig looks better, his color is back and she knows for a fact the busty blonde out at the desk gave him a sponge bath the night before. She suspects the little nurse threw in a happy ending free of charge. 

“Leila! Just the girl we wanted to see.” Clay is smiling at her and Leila immediately feels like prey. The glock is heavy with her need to draw it. Apparently she’s a bit trigger-happy this morning. 

She forces another smile and asks, “Are you feeling better today Daddy?” She is pointedly trying to ignore Clay’s effort at what she knows will be an unwanted conversation. 

“I’m feeling better baby, much better. They took the chest tube out this morning.” Tig gives he a smile and she nods. The doctor mentioned they would finally be making some big steps towards full recovery the day before. “Come talk to Clay and I for a minute, the club has a favor to ask.” Leila can tell by the hard set of Tig’s face he doesn’t like the “favor” anymore than she will but he’s going to ask her to do it anyways. The club always comes first, always. 

“Alright,” she is wary, “what’s up?” She settles herself into the extra chair.

“We have an important face-to-face tonight,” Clay starts explaining, watching her with his cold eyes and Leila wonders how Gemma manages to fuck the man on a regular basis, “we need you to be there.” Not as bad as she thought, but he’s clearly not done yet. Leila nods for him to continue. “Connor O’Leary of the RIRA is coming into town to help us finalize a new gun deal. It’s very important that this deal goes through and Connor’s not the most trusting of men. We need a girl, a _pretty_ girl, to wait the table. Someone we can trust to not overhear the wrong things.” 

“Okay,” she says, trying to reserve judgment, “where is this little meet taking place?”

“That’s the favor part,” Tig does not look happy but he continues anyways, “you’ll all be meeting him at Teasers.” Ah, there’s the catch. Leila knows Teasers, the seedy strip club just outside Lodi. She’s only been there once but she knows what it means for her to play waitress at a strip joint. She’ll have to look the part. 

“Do I have a choice?” She is looking at Tig not Clay as she speaks. She wants to see her father’s face when his President tells her no; you have to dress like a whore for the good of the club. 

“Of course you have a choice,” Clay says, voice impassive, “but SAMCRO would really appreciate this. We’d be in your debt.” 

She nods, “SAMCRO is already in my debt, but what’s one more for the books, right?”

She can tell Clay doesn’t like her commentary on the matter but he seems satisfied with the response. “Excellent, we’ll leave from the clubhouse at seven. Wear something… nice.” His smile is more of a leer and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes sweep her body. She knows what he expects and she will deliver. She stares at him, hoping she looks defiant instead of angry, until the door closes on his back.

Turning back to Tig, Leila finds him watching her carefully, his bright blue eyes searching her face. She has no idea what he’s hoping to find. “You really do have a choice,” his voice is quiet, “there are other girls we could ask. None as secure, but others.”

“Should I do it?” The question hangs between them for a long moment and Leila forces herself to maintain eye contact with the man who _made_ her. Say no, she begs internally, say no because you love me. Say no because I’m your daughter and you don’t want me parading around like a hooker for a bastard Irish King. Say no. She tries to keep the pleading out of her eyes but she can tell by the look on his face he knows what she wants. 

His gaze slides to the side, “Yeah, no reason why you shouldn’t.” He’s lying. She can smell it all over him. Fucking bastard. 

“Okay.” She agrees. She hates the finality of the moment. In her own way, she hates Tig. “I’m going to have to head back to Salt Lake sooner than I planned. There’s some trouble at the shop.” It’s not a lie but it’s certainly not what she came here to tell him. 

“Yeah,” he says, he looks sad, good, “those idiots can’t keep the place afloat without you?” 

“It seems not. Do you need anything?” 

“No.”

“Okay,” she hates that her voice breaks on the word as she struggles to hold back tears, “well then I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Guess you will.” 

She doesn’t hug him goodbye, refuses to say the word actually. He’s already taken too much from her in the last 21 years there’s no need to add her dignity to the mix. SAMCRO will take that tonight. 

Clay is still in the waiting room. This waiting room isn’t so drab as the one in the ICU. It’s all bright colors and recently redone decor, the members of SAMCRO draped across the furniture still look painfully out of place in their black. The president is whispering in his wife’s ear and they both look up when Leila enters. Will she ever find that damn man not making secret plans? It’s beginning to get old. 

She is distracted by Jax, her escort for the day, and she returns his smile with only a little hesitation. “So, are you in on this nonsense tonight as well?” 

His smile falters, “Not really, it’ll just be Clay and Chibs at the table with O’Leary but I’ll be around in case there’s trouble. Are you going to do it then?”

“Yes, I’m going to do it. I don’t have anything… appropriate to wear though. Think one of your trashy girlfriends can help me out?” Leila asks, she is trying so, _so_ hard to make light of this situation. 

“I don’t have trashy girlfriends, not right now anyways. We can ask Bobby to talk to LuAnn I’m _sure_ she can set you up.” Jax is smiling now, all the tension gone from the moment. Leila realizes they’re either both delusional or she’s a better actress than she thought. 

“That’ll work.” 

* * *

It is 6:45 and Leila is mesmerized by the mirror in Tig’s bathroom, stuck somewhere between disgust and awe. LuAnn did more than set her up, she’d shown up two hours before with half her closet shoved in the trunk of her little car and enough make-up to put on a full Broadway show. Never one to put much stock in dressing up, Leila was forced into a chair and let the ex-porn star have her way. The results were… terrifying. 

The dress is emerald green, “luck of Irish” LuAnn had whispered as she pulled it out of the mess of bright colors and leather. It hits mid thigh, short enough that Leila knows her bare ass is going to be pressed into whatever bike she has to get on tonight. It’s made of some sort of silky man-made material and she has to admit it does cling to all the right curves. Rather demure in the front there’s no back, at all, and for the first time since she’s been back the bright colors of her full back piece are completely exposed. 

LuAnn teased, pulled and curled her hair until the too dark locks fell into place. The woman had very exacting standards. Leila wonders if the messy-bed-head curls will still look right after being jammed in a helmet. Her makeup is flawless and she does admire how big her golden eyes look with all the dark kohl spread around them. They literally fill her usually undecorated face. She looks like a very expensive hooker. Mission accomplished. 

She’s just turning to leave when she notices the photos, momentarily taken aback that’s she’s never seen them before. There are three of them, each a snapshot of Tig with one of his girls. Her eyes drift over the images of Dawn and Fawn. They are standing in front of a house Leila’s never seen before and she assumes it’s their home down South. They all look so happy. They both look so much like him; maybe it’s time she reached out to her half sisters. It never hurts to try, maybe she can help steer them away from the mess of the MC. It’s a thought for another day. 

Leila lets her eyes drift down to her picture. She and Tig are standing in front of a Lake, his arm is around her shoulders and she’s resting her head on his chest. They’re both in bathing suits, him in black shorts and her in a bright blue bikini. Her eyes automatically focus on the unscarred skin of her right hip. She remembers this day. 

It had been 13 months since her mother passed and she’d been practically living at Gemma and Clay’s in an attempt to escape the disaster zone that was Tig’s apartment. The trip to the lake had been spontaneous, Gemma’s idea, and she’d made sure all the boys participated. They’d packed coolers of beer and sandwiches in wax paper and they’d hit the road caravan style. Two hours later found them at the deserted boat ramp. Jax and Ope had strung up a rope swing, almost hanging Bobby in the process. Clay and Piney had settled themselves on the back of the tow truck with beers. LuAnn had been there, tanning topless, while Otto, not yet in lockup, spent the afternoon glaring at anyone who dared look at her tits. Tig spent the majority of his afternoon getting drunk and sneaking up on Leila underwater. He would laugh like a maniac every time he managed to stealthily pull her off the blow up float. 

It had been a wonderful day. Even now, in the dingy club bathroom, Leila can smell the sunscreen and sunshine. The family that spent a day at the lake is not the same one she’d spent the last four days with. The tired, wary looking people in the clubhouse with her now break her heart. It is the first time in three years she’s come close to understanding she’s not the only one who’s suffered since the beginning of this Mayan nonsense. It frustrates her; she liked the selfish way of thinking more. 

She lets the picture slip out of focus and re-centers on herself in the mirror. “Alright,” she whispers to herself, “time to stop being little girl lost.” 

* * *

There are wolf whistles when Leila finally drifts out into the main clubhouse. She ignores them. With her knee high riding boots and leather over the dress she _almost_ feels covered. She lets the stilettos LuAnn left to go with the dress dangle from one hand. She is completely unarmed for the first time in four day and it makes her feel vulnerable. The feeling is magnified when Chibs holds out his spare helmet with a wink. Of course she’d end up on _his_ bike. 

“You look lovely dear.” Clay’s playing and nice and she doesn’t have the balls to tell him to fuck off. 

“Let’s just go.” She doesn’t try to temper her snap. 

Chibs proves to be more perceptive than she’d thought possible. There is no leering or cheeky comment as she settles herself behind him on the bike. Her bare legs are freezing and she knows he can feel her shaking because of the way he slides one of his gloved hands over hers. She can’t help but press her thighs close to his hoping to steal some of his warmth. She will be an ice cube by the time they make Lodi. 

“Yeh sure yer ready darlin?” His voice rumbles straight into her chest. 

“Yep.”

She presses her face into his leather covered back and the dyna roars to life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are welcome. Thank you for reading.


	6. Chapter 6

It’s got to be close to 40 degrees out and night has fallen by the time they slide into the parking lot of Teasers. The only light is the glow from the giant neon sign advertising “we bare all.” Leila has been settled against Chibs’ back for 45 minutes and she is pretty sure her mostly bare legs are frozen in place. She wouldn’t be surprised to find icicles hanging from her knees. 

The Scot, while not as comforting as Tig or as careful as Jax, is not hard to ride with. Over the last few days she’s slowly gotten used to the wild turns of Juice but it’s nice to get on the back of a bike and not have to hang on for dear life. Chibs seems to have taken things extra slow tonight and she has no doubt it’s because he is all too conscious of her bare legs and flimsy attire. It would only take one wrong turn and she’d end up nothing but a big pile of road rash. Her leather is only approved for 15 seconds of pavement when worn without a liner. 

Clay arrived before them and his bike is already backed into a spot near the door. The president is no where in sight, Leila assumes he is working out the details of the Leila-plays-a-slutty-waitress plan. She could really care less, she has been shivering uncontrollably against the Scot and wants nothing more than to get inside. She hopes this dump has heat. Chibs backs the bike into a spot and Leila immediately becomes aware of how much body heat she was siphoning as he dismounts leaving her perched on the bitch seat alone. She almost tips over as she attempts to get off the dyna and keep all her important parts covered but Chibs catches her easily and she is very aware of the way his hands linger on her hips. 

“You alright sweetheart? You look frozen.” 

“I’m fine.” The snappish tone she’d hoped for is destroyed by her chattering teeth. 

“C’mere.” His voice is low and his eyes are soft as he reaches up and undoes the helmet, one gloved hand lingers on her cheek for just a beat too long. “Ya really do look pretty tonight.” 

“Is this what all bikers want then? A hooker in riding boots.” She snips back. 

His laugh is loud and as close as she is she can feel it all the way to the soles of her feet. She knows what’s coming next and she’s not sure if she really wants it or if she’s just leaning hard into bad decisions this week but she doesn’t plan to stop now. 

“Nah lass,” he is much much too close, “I’m just trying to make yeh feel a bit better about tonight. I know this isn’t your usual.” 

“Well, thanks I guess.” She’s still shaking like a leaf and she knows going inside would do a lot towards fixing the problem but she’s suddenly mesmerized by the possibilities of the parking lot. His hands run down her arms in a move that both offers warmth and draws her even nearer. 

“Anytime luv.” He breathes the words against her cheek and he is close enough that she can see the lighter brown stars around his irises. He smells like leather, cigarettes, and man; she feels helpless to do anything but relax into him. 

She is not surprised when his lips brush against hers but she is floored by her reaction to him. It’s as if the borrowed porn dress has possessed her. There is no attempt at protest, she just throws her arms up around his shoulders and pushes against him. His mouth is hot and she doesn’t offer any resistance when he deepens the kiss, walking them backwards until he’s sitting sideways on the bike and her hips are being gripped by his bent knees. One of his big fighter’s hands is tangled up in her messy hair and she is embarrassed by the soft moan that leaves her when he twists the fingers to tug. 

He is the one to break the kiss, his rough hands sliding down to rest on the sides of her bare thighs. She presses her face into the front of his kutte not sure what happens now but willing to find out. “I suppose,” she starts hesitantly, “we should go in now.” She can’t remember why she was cold in the first place because it’s certainly warm within the circle of his arms. 

“Aye,” she is shamefully proud at how rough his voice is, “you go ahead, I’m going to,” he lets out a long breath against her neck and it sends a shiver down her spine. “I’m going to have a smoke, wait for Connor.” 

“Okay.” She agrees. Waiting for O’Leary sounds like a plausible plan but Leila hopes he’s staying outside because going inside would be embarrassing for both of them. She is suddenly desperate to be able to cause that kind of reaction in the foreign brother. She has no idea who she is tonight, she’s certainly not the girl who left Salt Lake only a few days ago. 

She turns from him still caught up in her own head but his gloved fingers catch at her wrist and she looks up to meet his eyes, “Stay sharp tonight, yea?” There’s something in his gaze that she can’t figure out through the haze of her own tangled thoughts. 

“Yea.” She agrees again and heads for the door, her hips swinging just a little bit more than usual. Maybe he’d just been trying to help her get into character. She doubts it though. 

* * *

Her feet hurt. The torture devices LuAnn claimed were shoes are starting to wear on Leila’s very last nerve. Clay isn’t helping matters, he just keeps waving his hand in the air to demand more watered-down whiskey. He’d pulled her aside as soon as she’d stepped in the door and for a moment she’d been worried he’d seen Chibs kiss her in the parking lot. Instead, he’d just wanted to tell her to keep the drinks light on actual alcohol. Apparently wits were important this evening. The realization ratchets up her already present anxiety. 

Connor O’Leary is less frightening than Leila expected, at least at first glance. In fact, he’s handsome, in a dangerous sort of way. He has a classic action star scar cutting through his left eyebrow and no shortage of smiles for her. She wonders if all foreign men have facial scars, maybe they’re part of the visa requirements. 

She is standing near the bar trying look like she belongs. The clothes help her blend in but Clay snapped at her twice before O’Leary showed up about moving more like a real stripper. She tries to slant her hips and look more like someone who knows everyone in the room wants to see them naked but it’s been awhile since she was last bare in front of a man and she doesn’t think she’s pulling it off. Leila is no stranger to what a man wants from a woman but she hasn’t had any experiences recently that are worth calling home about. Tig would have expected her to call. The last time she’d gotten laid ended up a fast and hard one night stand that left her physically satisfied but emotionally empty. She hadn’t minded. 

O’Leary, for his part, doesn’t seem to care whether or not she can walk like she knows the feel of a pole between her thighs and her presence is accomplishing exactly what Clay hoped for. The Irish man has been diligently sliding his hand up her ass every time she got close enough and he seemed more than relaxed. A nagging part of her brain screams for her to notice that he’s the only one at the table who looks relaxed. Clay is armed, she can just make out the shoulder holster under his leathers and he is keeping his hands on the table, clenching and unclenching his fingers to keep the arthritic joints loose. Chibs is just a bit hunched over and even from her perch at the bar she can see the muscles in his arms bunching in well restrained tension. His eyes keep cutting to the exit. Nothing about this feels like a meeting between allies. 

Tig might not have been the kind of father who attended ballet recitals but that doesn’t mean he didn’t teach her right. After years of his obsessive drilling; Leila is a crack shot, packs a mean right hook, and more importantly is keenly observant. She knows that there are three doors leading out of the building, she knows that there are six people present including herself, she knows that there are two dynas and three cars in parking lot, and she knows that Chibs and Clay are waiting for something. She just doesn’t know what. 

Clay pulls her out of thought with another wave of his ring laden hand. She picks up the tray already loaded with new drinks and attempts to look sexy as she moves towards the table. 

“I swear lass I’ve been drinking fast all night to make sure you get to come visit me more often” O’Leary’s accent is light, much easier to understand than Chibs’ rolling brogue. He smiles up her roguishly. 

She deposits the drinks and cuts him a sly look. “You don’t have to drink fast on my account, I’m not going anywhere.” It’s the parking lot all over again, Leila is now certain the dress has possessed her. It makes her too bold. Everything lately has made her too bold and too wild. O’Leary laughs but she doesn’t miss the way Chibs tightens one large hand into a fist. 

“Well then.” The Irish King is encouraged enough to snake one long arm out and snag her around the waist, she is no match for his strength and is forced into his waiting lap. “You should most certainly stay,” he speaks the words directly into her ear and an involuntary shiver runs through her when she feels his teeth scrape against the lobe. 

“I thought this was a private meeting.” Clay is smiling at O’Leary but there’s only cold, dead eyes for her. 

“What’s the harm? You said the girl was trustworthy, maybe I’ll stay after we’re done here and see what all this famed American hospitality is about.” He punctuates his words with a squeeze of his arm low around her hips and Leila’s eyes dare Clay to say something. A deep part of her mind knows she’s only picking at old wounds hoping for new outcomes. Clay just smiles and nods. Chibs is now openly staring at the far door. 

“So explain to me again how you plan on handling our Mexican problem.” O’Leary makes it clear that despite his preference for some eye candy this is still a business meeting. His hand slides from her waist down to tap at her thigh. Maybe he’s a multi-tasker. 

Clay begins his response but Leila doesn’t hear a word, her entire body is focused on the path O’Leary’s hand is now taking over her thigh to the soft cloth hem of the dress. His fingers are tracing patterns on her sensitive skin and she swears she feels him trace out a four leaf clover. He shifts under her forcing her thighs further apart and she has a pang of regret for the thoughtless actions that brought her to this point. 

Her eyes snap up trying to determine if the other two men at the table share her concern but Clay is still talking about plans to deal with the Mayans and she assumes he is aware of her predicament and doesn’t care. Chibs has abandoned watching the door and Leila is surprised to find the full intensity of his gaze focused on her face. 

“Chibby is there something wrong?” There’s a threat in the question, Leila can hear it in the dark tone O’Leary uses. Her eyes beg the Scot to do something, what she has no idea. 

“No, no problem right Chibs?” Clay has joined the mix his statement masked as a question. 

“Absolutely not.” Chibs’ voice is bright and he smiles, it never reaches his eyes. 

O’Leary nods and for a moment Leila thinks he’s going to let her go, the arm around her waist loosens just enough, but no. It seems the move was just a means to an end as his other hand settles high on her ribs just under her breasts. Clay is talking again but he would have to be an idiot not to see the silent contest of wills going on across the table. It seems O’Leary likes taking what other men want because he’s staring a challenge at Chibs and Leila doesn’t know how long the Scot will be able to resist. 

Leila shifts a bit in an attempt to put some space between herself and the Irishman hoping to diffuse the situation but O’Leary is having none of it. If anything playing demure seems to urge him on and the hand spread wide over her ribs tightens. He’s still nodding along to Clay but Leila can feel the hand on her thigh move higher, dangerously close to sliding under the dress. Her eyes snap shut for a moment out of shame or fear she’s not sure. There’s a soft noise from Chibs and she chances a glance at his face, following line of his eyes down to her lap where O’Leary’s intentions are being made obvious by the green fabric bunched around his fingertips. 

Somewhere in the distance she hears tires squeal but in her head the noise is drowned out by the her gasp at the Irishman’s hand tightening down on her flesh. She is vaguely aware of the scrape and crash of Chibs leaving his chair, Clay’s yelling, O’Leary’s cold laugh in her ear and then the world explodes. 

The bang of the door being kicked in startles them all and as the first of the gunshots shatter the room Leila spares a passing thought for the fact that she’s going to die dressed as a hooker. Her mind drifts to how proud Tig will be but then there’s a familiar face in the crowd of men streaming through the destroyed front door. It's a face that hadn’t always been so hard and hateful. Green eyes over a Mayan patch meet hers and the scar on her hip burns in recognition. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading.


	7. Chapter 7

All of training Tig drilled into her as a child becomes useless the moment Leila catches sight of Jorge. If the recognition is mutual the Mayan doesn’t show it, and the bikers just keep coming through the doors guns blazing. Leila’s entire body seizes up, still spread across O’Leary’s lap and the Irish King seems more than content to keep her there like some kind of erotic human shield. 

It is Chibs who reaches for her, a bit rougher than necessary she thinks, but maybe she’s being sensitive what with the molestation and attack. Either way the Scot is successful in pulling her from O’Leary’s grasp and she finds herself being forced behind an overturned table. Broken glass rains down on her head as the mirror behind the stripper pole shatters. Her hands reach for the glock and she comes up empty in the skimpy dress. 

The bartender and busboy present at the beginning of the night have fled through the kitchen and getting to the back door means crawling through the hale of gunfire. She has just given them all up as a lost cause when a second bang signals the arrival of backup. She watches in horrified understanding as the rest of SAMCRO, complete with Nomad back up, burst into the room from the rear. They brought the big guns. 

For a moment she sees Jax, his face set in concentration as he shoots a bloody path across the club with a handheld automatic. She hears a man scream and she knows someone has found their mark. The heavy thud of a body hitting the floor makes her stomach churn and wonders how she could possibly consider adding vomit to already chaotic mix. 

Somewhere near the front she hears a voice yelling in Spanish. There are boots pounding around the room and then Chibs is beside her. He’s breathing hard and even with her mind muddled, Leila is suspicious of the extra ammo he is loading into his .45 Smith and Wesson. No one comes to a friendly table meet that well armed. 

“We have to get over there.” She knows she must look dazed because he is signing out the words with his hands even as he speaks. Leila nods. Yes. Over there is the back door, over there is escape. She doesn’t realize he meant this very moment until his hand is wrapped around her upper arm like a vice and he’s dragging her behind him yelling for cover fire as they move. She trips once once on her murderous heels and feels a bullet graze her shoulder like a bee sting. She cries out and would have fallen if not for the Scot. As it is she ends up crouched and watches as bullets ding harmlessly off the brass stripper pole. She wonders if that’s a selling point for the company that makes them. 

Chibs shakes her hard and she knows she’ll have an imprint of his hand bruised into her skin tomorrow. “Pull y’self together!” The shout works better than the shake and she manages to regain her feet scrambling the last twenty feet to the door. She can hear more pounding boots and the squeal of tires behind her but she doesn’t stop to find out who’s retreating. Fuck them all. 

Juice’s face is a blur as she pushes past the startled prospect left to mind the door, and Leila doesn’t make it another two steps before she slams to the ground. There is a sharp burn and she knows she’s skinned both her knees but before she has a chance to care she’s retching. The light dinner and two shots she took for courage coming back up in a boil of nerves and panic. 

She comes down from the adrenaline high slowly and as she lets her still shaking body relax she becomes aware of both the silence of the night and Chibs’ hand rubbing circles into her back. His deep, accented voice is muttering nonsense into her ear and it makes her want to heave a second time. Scrambling away from him, Leila forces herself to ignore the hurt look in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something but Clay’s voice rings out and with one last look at her the Scot pulls himself to his feet and moves away. 

She feels like she is in a dream watching the men she grew up loving, idolizing, slowly trickle out the back door of the strip club. She counts heads, taking stock of their injuries but everyone appears whole. She pushes aside her rising anger and lets out a deep breath of relief. 

“Two Mayans dead and the busboy took a pass-through to the shoulder. He should be fine.” She overhears Jax reporting to Clay. “We’re all solid. Everything went as planned.” As planned Leila is certain those words will echo in her mind for the rest of her life. 

She’s not given the time to completely process this new but somehow expected information. In her current state Leila can’t imagine why they would plan a Mayan ambush. Why they’d ask her to stand in the crossfire. Bobby is in front of her suddenly, his familiar face looking down at her full of concern. She feels his fingers probe the wound on her arm but it must not need real medical attention because he just bends down and scoops her up. She is reminded of the story from her childhood he’d told just that morning. Maybe if she refuses to get in the van he’ll threaten to take her back to the pretend stripper store. Maybe this night too will become the stuff of happy memory. Why do all their memories begin with death? He settles her in shotgun next to Piney. 

* * *

  
Trust Piney to deliver the brutal truth. Leila doesn’t move a muscle on the long ride back to Charming she just listens. 

He tells her everything. How O’Leary contacted Clay a few days ago, he’d heard rumors about the attack that landed Tig in the hospital. The Irish were concerned SAMCRO wasn’t strong enough to protect the gun trade; maybe they should take their business elsewhere. O’Leary demanded proof that the MC was capable of handling a Mayan assault and so the plan evolved. It unfolds as expected from there, the meeting was set up, the time and place were leaked to a source who would make sure the news ended up in the right hands. Leila was thrown into the mix for O’Leary’s amusement and as added incentive for Jorge to show his face personally. 

It seems things had changed in the Mayan ranks since Leila made her grand escape three years before. Jorge, once an ambitious new brother responsible for the drive by which left Leila wounded, was now the Mayan president. He’d forced his way to the top of the food chain less than a year after she fled as a very successful war time leader. Clay believes it is Jorge’s bloodlust that is keeping the war alive, but they have caught wind of friendly factions. There are Mayan members who want the feud to find a peaceful and possibly lucrative end. Clay had hoped tonight would be his chance to end Jorge for good but it seems fate has other plans. 

By the time they pull into the dark Teller Morrow lot Leila is certain she’s going to throw up again. She pulls herself out of the van and starts barefoot and shaking towards the clubhouse. She has no idea what happened to LuAnn’s shoes. She pointedly ignores Bobby’s “little girl?”, Juices’ puppy dog stare, and Chibs who just whispers her name softly. She does, however, pause for a moment in front of Gemma. The MC queen is standing in the doorway to the clubhouse and her face is torn between relief and triumph. So she knew too, good for her. 

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

The water is scalding before Leila steps into the shower. The haunted dress and her traitorous lace underwear have found their way into the room’s trashcan. She’ll have to explain to LuAnn. Leila has no doubt the porn star will be overly understanding. At this point the entire world seems like one big conspiracy theory and she hates it. The glock is balanced on the bathroom sink and she plans to shoot the first member of SAMCRO who dares enter the bathroom. She doesn’t want their bullshit apologies. 

Okay, okay, deep breaths, stay calm. She is not a wilting flower. Nor is she some bitch croweater too weak to take a good old fashioned gun fight. She knows she is barely functioning, this last bit of strength is just a poor imitation of control but she forces herself to follow the rules Tig taught her all those years ago. 

Leila was twelve the first time he took her out to the Bluebird property and handed her a gun. They’d gone over all the basics, grip, aim, fire, and everything related to maintenance. It was at the end of the afternoon, he cracked open two beers, handing her one with a wink and a comment about having to make do without a son, and then he explained the facts of life. 

“You never point a gun at something you don’t actually plan to kill. Never. You always make sure the safety’s on before you shove it in your pants like a gangster and don’t let me catch you showing off to your friends. I know you can handle yourself but none of my pieces have serial numbers and I don’t want to see my little girl go away for a federal weapons charge.” He paused here to laugh at his own joke and then his face took a serious turn. “Listen kitten, I am going to spend my whole life trying to make sure you don’t ever have to protect yourself but if you do, remember shoot to kill during the fight and take stock later. Don’t let your nerves get the best of you in the moment.” 

She can still remember sitting on the tailgate of his truck and thinking he was an absolute god for promising to take care of her. Fucking bullshit. The advice though, is worth following. She’d hadn’t been able to shoot to kill but now she can take stock. So she does. 

She carefully inspects the graze on her shoulder and finds unexpected relief when she realizes it didn’t hit any ink. It will, however, leave a nasty scar across the top of her arm. Whatever. She didn’t have any plans for that patch of skin anyways. For a girl who tattoos for a living Leila is pretty conservative about her own ink. All of it has meaning and she considers it private. She doesn’t plan to expose herself to the world with full sleeves anytime soon. 

Her knees are almost worse than the graze and they burn viciously under the spray of the shower. She can take care of them when she gets out. She’ll be sore tomorrow and she can already see the shadow of Chibs’ hand developing on her upper arm but she’s not dead yet, or again rather. Physically she’s going to make it through the night. Emotionally, she’s a disaster. 

The tears are not unexpected but the gut wrenching sobs are. Leila’s whole body shakes with their force as she lets go and the panic, pain, and betrayal of the night wash over her. She lets her head drop and the sight of her blood swirling down the drain, staining the fiberglass pink, only makes it worse. She is an idiot. She was stupid to come back, she was stupid to trust any of them, and she was stupid to think anything had changed. The club would always come first, no exceptions. She is just a tiny expendable cog in the SAMCRO machine. She doesn’t know how Gemma sleeps at night calling it a family. 

None of them care for her. Not Chibs with his damned kiss and wandering hands. Not Jax and his brotherly concern. Not Gemma, the pretend mother to them all. Not Tig. Her fucking father sent her into that disaster and she just knows he was completely aware of the danger. Going to spend his life making sure she doesn’t have to protect herself indeed. She has no doubt he thinks he did his fatherly duty by making sure the rest of the MC was going to show up armed. No matter that she was a fucking sitting duck in her stripper get up.   
  
Well at least she’s not stuck here anymore. She has plenty of money and a life back in Utah. Tig’s not in any danger of dying from this particular wound anymore, who knows about the next, so there’s really no reason for her to stay. She’ll take a day to get her things together and say goodbye. She hates that after everything she can’t bring herself to think of leaving without saying goodbye. At the very least she can go slap Tig around a bit while he’s still laid up and helpless. That would make her feel a bit better. Yes, she’d stay one more day and then she’s gone, for good this time. With plans made she shuts off the water and climbs out of the shower. Wrapping herself in a towel, she stops at the mirror for a moment and her eyes drift down to the pictures tucked into the frame. She throws the one of her in the trash. The Dr. Seuss twins will have to be enough for him from now on. 

Gemma is sitting on the edge of the bed when she leaves the bathroom and Leila feels a little vindicated when the older woman’s eyes widen at the sight of the naked glock clutched in her left hand. 

“What do you want Gemma, I’d like to go to bed.” 

“Are you done?” Gemma asks and the matriarch has that look on her face; Leila just knows the other woman is about to give some bullshit SAMCRO love speech. 

“Yea, I’m done.” 

“Good,” the queen starts, “because this isn’t something to cry about in public. We live with the club’s protection, when they ask something of us and we’re able; we do it. You’re whole and from what I understand the worst of your injuries,” her eyes flick down to Leila’s now bandaged knees, “were self inflicted. Get hard, stay hard.” 

Jesus, Leila really was going to shoot a bitch tonight. “Are you done?” She doesn’t even try to hide the disgust in her voice, “Get out Gemma and take your particular brand of Old Lady bullshit psychology with you. I’m too tired for this tonight.” 

Gemma stands and turns to the door and for a brief moment Leila thinks she might actually get away with having had the last word, but no. The queen turns on her heel, her body half out of the room, “You’ll see eventually Leila, it always comes back to the MC, you’ll never really be able to leave your family.” and then she’s gone; the door closing softly behind her. 

Yes, Leila thinks, it always does come back to the MC. Fucking SAMCRO. Fucking Charming. God damn fucking Tig. 

She’s asleep before her head even hits the pillow. 


	8. Chapter 8

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, FUCK. Leila kicks out viciously at the front tire of her 1970 Chevelle convertible. She will never admit it to Tig but she loves the car like a child. She’d been furious with him when he’d shown up in Salt Lake two years prior but the 450 horsepower black beauty he’d pulled into her driveway made everything a little bit better. 

Now, however, it was useless and smoking on the side of the road and Leila is more than furious with the entirety of her life. It is the day after the shootout at Teasers. She’d gone to bed planning to stay another day but in the early morning light betrayal had settled in her stomach like a rock and she’d found herself unable to face the MC, not to mention Tig. She’d packed before they’d woken up and was just about to turn out of Charming when the damn car overheated. Story of her goddamned life. 

Gathering up her things, she slams the drivers side door, and starts the long walk back to the garage. She isn’t going to call for a ride, she still has a bit of pride left. 

She barely made it a mile when she comes upon the familiar sign and she makes a spontaneous left turn. The cemetery is too green, too bright in the winter sun for all the sadness it holds but Leila doesn’t hesitate as she moves towards the back. The newer graves are set apart from the older ones. They are well maintained and the paths through them are regularly traveled with the visits of loved ones. She knows exactly where she’s going. 

The headstone is black granite, large and well carved. Tig hadn’t skimped on Margaret’s burial. In fact, in the months after her death he’d literally thrown money at Leila in an attempt to avoid the actual responsibility of having a 16 year old. Leila settles herself onto the cold, wet, grass before the stone and reaches out to trace the engraving. “Margaret Carson, 1962-1996. Mother, Lover, and Friend. Tig had wanted to bury her with his crow on the headstone but Leila had refused. If he hadn’t been man enough to give it to Margaret life he certainly wasn’t going to stick it on her in death. What’s more he’d still technically been married to Dawn and Fawn’s mother. 

“I miss you Mama.” Leila’s voice breaks on the words and she has a rush of things she wants to ask. Would you have protected me? Would we still be in Charming? Would you tell me that SAMCRO is family and family is everything? Would you be proud of who I’ve become? She doesn’t bother to voice the thoughts, she’d spent a lot of time talking to the cold black stone in the year after her mother died and she knows she’ll find neither answers or comfort here. Margaret “Cat” Carson was dead and she’d left her kitten to fend for herself. Leila dregs up the only bit of advice on the MC her mother ever gave her, “Take the help they’re offering but never feel beholden. SAMCRO didn’t make you, make yourself.” 

Words to fucking live by. With a resigned sigh Leila pulls the phone from her bag and makes the call. 

* * *

It is 10pm and the Friday night after church party is in full swing. After Leila made the call from the cemetery Bobby and Piney showed up with the tow truck. She had no doubt they’d all drawn lots at the garage to see who would have to face her. Bobby didn’t look happy and Piney just gave her a quick once over, taking in her red eyes and sad posture in front of the gravestone, and shook his head. They’d swung around to pick up the Chevelle and ended up right back at Teller Morrow. 

It took Lowell Jr two hours to give the Chevelle a once over and Leila had no doubt he was being intentionally distracted to draw things out. Though he was damn quick to deliver the news. The Chevelle was going to need some serious work, parts had to be ordered, it would take several days before the car was close to road ready. Leila only had to glance at Gemma’s triumphant face to become suspicious. She wondered if the queen snuck out in the dark to do her own dirty work or if she set a minion to the task. The big money was on minion, Leila had never known Gemma to get her own hands dirty if she could help it. That woman lived by the phrase plausible deniability. 

Unable or unwilling to face the MC Leila spent most of the day pacing around Tig’s pathetic dorm room working herself into a rage. She’d planned to stay trapped in the tiny 11’x12’ room until someone came to the door with news that her escape route was finally fixed but the sounds of the party starting had created an overwhelming desire to get well and truly drunk. So here she was, backed into a dark corner of the clubhouse’s main room, a very large whiskey balanced on her knee. 

Chibs had so far been the only brother to make any attempt at conversation. He’d caught her near the bar, sliding his arm around her waist he’d been leaning down to whisper something in her ear when she pulled away. “Don’t you fucking touch me.” She must have looked fierce when the words left her mouth because his eyes widened and he help up his hands in a sign of surrender. He hadn’t tried again, and was even now settled into one of the couches a very trashy looking blonde on his lap. He was having a good laugh with one of the visiting nomads. Well bully for him. 

Her eyes have just fallen on Bobby taking a body shot off a croweater at the bar when her brooding is interrupted. 

“Hey,” Juice is standing in front of her shifting nervously from foot to foot. The man never stopped moving. “I know you’re mad at everyone and all but I thought…” his words trail off under the intensity of her stare. 

“You thought what?” She can’t help but feel bad for the bouncy prospect, this is the first time since she’s met him that he’s looked nervous. 

“I dunno. I just thought maybe you’d still like some company.” She considers him for a moment and a thought occurs to her. 

“Did you know, about last night I mean, did you know what they were asking me to walk into?” Left foot, right foot, left, his eyes flick around and she knows he’s trying to decide how much club business he can really discuss with her. 

“No,” he admits finally, “I — you know how it is. The prospect is the last to know anything. I didn’t even know there was anything going down until Piney shoved a rifle in my hands and told me I’d be watching the door.” 

“Would you have told me not to go if you’d known?” She hates herself for asking because she knows the honest answer. The club always comes first, but she feels lost and alone. She just wants confirmation that maybe someone out there cares. 

“Absolutely.” His voice is firm and his warm brown eyes seek out her gold ones. She chooses to believe him because there’s nothing else left. 

“Well then, take a seat.” 

* * *

She can’t remember whose idea it was, but someone, she or Juice, had decided they were going to get plastered. They’d been playing never have I ever for hours now, first with beer and then with shots. The party was slowly dying down around them and Leila is painfully aware of the soft moans coming from the pool table where Bobby is face down in a red head. 

“She’s got crabs.” Juice interrupts her discomfort his eyes trained on the sight across the room and for some reason this is the funniest thing Leila has ever heard. 

She giggles into her glass, “I don’t even want to know how you know that.”

Juice manages to give her a comically hurt look, “Her roommate told me thank you very much.” He’s trying and failing to look indignant. 

“Sure.” Leila doesn’t know when she got so flirty but between the alcohol and the easy company of the prospect it seems like nothing to press a hand to his chest. “I want a cigarette,” she declares. 

“You have a cigarette.” He laughingly nods towards the burning one settled into the bar’s ashtray. 

“I want an outside cigarette.” She moves to stand and the room spins. She doesn’t even realize she’s hit the ground until Juice’s face is swimming overhead, warm eyes filled with concern. 

“I think,” he starts, one big hand reaching down to help her up, “it’s time for someone to get to bed.” 

“You can’t tell me to go to bed. You’re not my dad,” she pouts out the words. 

“Thank god for that,” he laughs and she’s suddenly upright as he gets a grip on her. 

They make it across the room and are almost to Tig’s dorm when she trips again almost going down on all fours. She cries out when Juice’s hand squeezes into the graze on her arm in an attempt to steady her. “Shit!” He turns them surprised at her pain and they end up against the wall. Her back is pressed into the cold drywall and he catches himself, his hand slamming next to her head to keep from crushing her. 

He is so close, and his big warm eyes are smiling down at her. He smells like whiskey and leather. “Sorry,” he whispers. 

“It’s okay,” she breathes and she can’t help herself, trailing a hand down his smiling face. 

He kisses her then, his lips warm and soft against hers. The kiss is hesitant and it takes a beat for her booze soaked brain to get with the program. It hits her like a sledgehammer to the stomach, she wants this. 

She deepens the kiss immediately, moving her lips against his, and she arches herself off the wall in a move designed to create more contact. His hand tangles in her hair, sliding down to cup the back of her head. He wastes no time in taking control and she’s more than willing to let him have it. She grazes his bottom lip with her teeth demanding entrance to his mouth and he growls into her. Oh god. 

Things progress quickly from there. His free hand finds her hip and he grips her hard. He’s drinking her in like a man dying and she is desperate to move them the last few feet down the hallway and into the dorm room. She pulls away from his mouth breathing hard and he doesn’t waste any time attacking the delicate skin of her neck with lips, tongue, and teeth. “Come on,” she all but moans the words as she pulls them the last two steps, her hand finally connecting with the cold metal of the door knob. 

She pushes him down onto the foot of the bed with a bounce and when she climbs into his lap she finally has the contact she’d been missing. His lips find hers again and she slides a hand through the bristly stripe of his mohawk, grinding herself into his lap. 

One of his hands is trailing up under her shirt even as the other reaches around to try and push her boots off. He finds her cloth covered breast and she arches into the warm feeling of his hand. There is a thud as one boot hits the floor and his fingers are sliding under the bra to twist at her nipple. Fire licks through her body, she is electric with arousal. Leila tugs at the bottom of his shirt desperate to get her hands on what she knows will be a smooth chest and bunched muscle. 

The other boot falls and he breaks the kiss so she can pull his shirt over his head. He’s beautiful, all tan and well defined. She traces a tattoo with her finger and he lunges for her mouth again giving her a quick kiss before pulling back to tug her shirt off. Her bra follows quickly and she watches his eyes make a cursory scan of her bare upper body. His puppy dog eyes have been replaced by something unknown and she can’t hold back her moan as he dips his head to take one pierced nipple into his mouth. The sensation spreads through her body and she grinds down into his lap, loving the way he bucks up into her. She can feel him hard and ready through the combined fabric of their jeans. 

He moves them with a grunt and a bounce. Leila lands on her back and only has a second to appreciate him standing above her before he falls onto the mattress. He catches himself before he can crush her and she is certain she’s making too much noise as his mouth goes back to her breast and one hand drifts down between them to tug at the button on her jeans. Yes please. She arches her hips to help him get rid of the pants, kicking them off her ankles and onto the floor. 

She has her eyes closed and is just enjoying the feel of him above her when she realizes he’s gone still. His eyes are trained down, scanning her body. She feels his fingers trace the puckered skin over her hip and she worries the moment is going to be lost until he starts laughing. “Penguins?” She knows he’s talking about the brightly printed boy shorts she’d pulled on that morning. She hadn’t planned on getting laid. “You’re just incredible.” He breathes the words into her neck and she shivers under him reaching for his crotch with a frustrated noise. It’s time to get this show back on track. 

It does the trick. There’s a low rumble in his chest and his teeth close over the sensitive skin below her ear. She’ll have a mark tomorrow. His belt buckle is digging into the skin of her stomach and she pulls at the closure desperate to feel more of him. Juice sits back and undoes the belt and snap. She follows yanking at both jeans and boxers. His arousal springs forward fully erect and she reaches out for it, velvet over steel. Just what she needs. Her penguins don’t make it another moment. 

He’s on her again and she can fell him pressing at her entrance but he pauses. Is he reconsidering? She chances a glance up at his face and finds his eyes sparkling down at her, teasing. “Please.” The word leaves her lips like a prayer and he surges forward burying himself to the hilt. 

He fucks like he rides, all rolling muscle and endless energy. She digs her nails into his shoulders, wraps her legs around his waist and just hangs on as he pushes her into the mattress. His mouth tugs at a nipple piercing and she moans long and loud into his chest. Their both breathing hard and he’s muttering nonsense into her hair, she has no idea what he’s saying. It doesn’t matter. One hand is on her hip his fingers tracing the scar and the other slips between them, sliding through her wetness. He’s hitting all the right buttons. His lips find hers and he swallows her moan. 

Her orgasm builds slowly but when it hits she has to break away from his wonderful lips, arching up into him, her teeth clamp down on his shoulder muffling her shout. He doesn’t give her any time to recover as his hips snap forward with more force than before and she can tell he’s close from the erratic tempo. “Please, please, please.” She’s begging and she doesn’t care. When he comes it is with her name on his lips and she can feel his low groan all the way down her spine. 

They stay connected for a long moment both coming down from the high and Leila is cold the minute he rolls off her landing on his back. He snakes out one long arm pulling her towards him and he isn’t satisfied until she’s settled against his side, head on his chest. They don’t talk. What’s the point? She doesn’t even know his real name. She is royally screwed. 


	9. Chapter 9

Leila is surprised to wake up alone. Juice seems like the type to stay the night and cuddle but no dice. She doesn’t mind. She stares up the poster over the bed and the blonde, naked, twins immediately make her think of Tig. She wonders if anyone has bothered to tell him she made it through the Mayan ambush. Clay probably mentioned it. Probably. 

One hour, and two of Bobby’s muffins later finds Leila spread across one of the outdoor picnic tables. The garage doesn’t open until noon on Saturdays and the lot is quiet apart from the muffled thuds coming from the boxing ring. Chibs is working at the hanging bag, it seems he’s managed to overcome his injured leg. She watches him as he dances shirtless around the swinging Everlast. He is the most graceful man she’s ever seen. She fucked Juice last night, and now she can’t take her eyes off the Scot. Her head hits the table with a thud. 

She refuses to have a guilty conscience over Juice. The prospect has to know they have no future, there’s no hope for anything long term or loving. She hopes that’s why he wasn’t in her bed this morning. It would make things easier if he just let it go. It would make things easier if she hadn’t slept with him but Tequila often has that effect. Her phone trills from beside her and she spares it a glance. She sees Mark’s name in the caller ID and immediately hits ignore. She cannot add anything else to the mix right now. Mark’s baby mama drama is going to have to wait. 

The low rumble of an engine signals the return of Juice on his white prospect bike. He smiles when he sees her. Good. They just have to keep it light and she’ll be happy. He bounds over to the table and she doesn’t know how he can be so energetic when her own head is still pounding in time to the sound of Chibs’ fists. 

“Good morning,” he settles himself into the bench across from her. 

“Hey.” 

“So about last night…” oh thank god she thinks he’s going to start the awkward for her. 

“What about it?” She cuts her eyes over to the Scot, he’s got his head cocked in their direction and she wonders if he’s trying to eavesdrop. Naughty boy. 

“It was fun,” Juice says, and she can tell there’s a but coming, “but,” there it is, “I uh…” He’s dropped his voice to a whisper and is leaning towards her now, she practically expects the rest of the sentence be ‘but I have the herp, sorry, instead he says, “Wedidntuseprotection.” The words slur together in a mess. 

“What?” 

“We. Didn’t. Use. Protection.” He grinds out the words like they’re painful and she breathes a big sigh of relief. She almost laughs. 

“Oh, that. Don’t worry about it.” He looks confused at her nonchalance. 

“I have to worry about it. Your the daughter of a brother. If I… if we… if there was a,” he pauses, “mistake, it would be a big deal. I’m sure Tig would want me to be worried.” He’s scared of her father. How cute. If the last few days are any indication, protection and Leila barely enter the same thought for Tig. 

“There won’t be any mistakes,” she tries to sound reassuring, “I actually can’t you know… from the shooting. I’m not able to have kids.” Why do those words still make her throat feel tight? It’s been three years since a very nice doctor broke the news and she’s certainly enjoyed not have to worry about her sex life. Still, it hits hard on occasion. 

“That’s good.” He breathes a big sigh of release. It takes a beat but he realizes what he’s said and his face contorts in panic, “I mean, what I mean to say is, I’m sorry that you can’t but you know it’s good because of last night.” She huffs out a laugh at the nervous way he trips over the words and is just settling in to let him dig a deeper hole when Chibs strolls up. 

“We have to go.” The boxer is looking at her, not Juice, and Leila raises an eyebrow in question. “Clay just called, they need yeh at the hospital.” Right, her duties as next of kin. 

“We’ll talk later,” she says to Juice, “I need to run in and get my bag.” Chibs nods. 

“Aye, I’ll wait.” Of course you’ll wait, she thinks, you have to drive. She’s surrounded by idiots. 

* * *

The ride to the hospital is awkward. It seems Chibs was not drunk enough the night before to have forgotten how she snapped at him. Add to that the kiss from the parking lot of Teasers and the whole saving her life thing and Leila feels like they have enough history to be divorced already. Unfortunately it all manifests itself in Leila attempting to avoid touching him anymore than necessary. That plan backfires when she almost falls off at the first stop light. Chibs fixes the problem with a gruff, “Yeh have to hold on whether yeh want to or not,” and a firm tug on her thigh. She should have called a cab. 

Panic at seeing Tig doesn’t set-in until they’re standing in front of the elevators. She is jumpy and can’t decide if she’s going to be outright furious or just simmering by the time they make the sixth floor recovery ward. Chibs seems to notice the excess energy. 

“Stop that.” His hand closes over her’s pausing the constant twisting of her thumb ring. “Yer making me nervous. Yeh just have to sort the paperwork and then leave. Yeh don’t have to see him if yeh don’t want to. Should though.” Leila snatches her hands away and forces herself to stare straight ahead. She doesn’t need relationship advice. 

The doors ding open on the overly bright waiting room and she makes an immediate beeline for the nurses station. “I’m here to sign some paperwork for Tig Trager.” 

“Relationship to the patient?” The nurse doesn’t even look up from the chart she’s filling out. 

“Daughter.” 

The nurse is suddenly all smiles, “Oh, you’re the daughter. He talks about you all the time you know. It’s so wonderful you’ve come to visit again, he didn’t think you’d be coming back. Said you had to get back to work in Utah. Let me just go tell him you’re here.” 

“No, that’s okay…” but the nurse is already out of her seat, not listening to a word. Damnit Tig. The man was a mess of contradictions. Leila has seen him come home from “rides” with the boys covered in blood, new murder in his eyes. Yet, he brags about his daughter like some proud papa. Important job to get back to indeed. What the fuck. 

“Well come on dear.” The nurse is now standing in the doorway of Tig’s hospital room looking very pleased with herself. “You’re lucky you caught him awake, he hasn’t been sleeping well the last few days.” Of course he hasn’t. 

Leila throws a glance at Chibs hoping for help but the mangy biker is suddenly very intent on the latest celebrity gossip being offered by the waiting room. Bastard. She is helpless to do anything but walk into the darkened room. 

Tig is sitting up in the bed and even she’ll admit he looks a bit haggard. “Do you all need anything?” Nurse can’t-mind-her-own-business is looking between them as though she expects there to be a Lifetime worthy reunion occurring any moment. 

“The paperwork.” Leila asks weakly. 

“Of course, of course. I’ll have it ready in a jiff.” The older woman is bustling out the door and suddenly they’re alone. Good, no witnesses. 

“Hey kit-“

“Don’t.” Leila cuts off the endearment and moves to stand at the end of the bed resting her hands on the plastic foot board. “I don’t know if you had anything to do with the Chevelle breaking down but I’m leaving the minute it’s fixed. I won’t come back. I’ll leave the prepay.” 

“Gemma really wants to stay for Christmas.” Are you kidding. Leila wonders if he really thinks the change of subject will help. 

“Yea well, I don’t really have any family in the area to spend the holiday with. Besides, I know you’re not dead now so there’s really no point in staying any longer.” He doesn’t try to hide his hurt at her words and she forces herself not to care. 

“Leila, baby. Don’t be like that. It wasn’t supposed to go down like it did.” His voice has a pleading quality to it that is wholly unattractive. 

“How exactly was it supposed to go down? I mean it went down like every other dangerous situation you’ve gotten me into didn’t it. You. Weren’t. There. So something must have gone according to plan!” She’s almost yelling now and she knows her face must be red and furious because he’s looking pretty worked up himself. Fix anger with anger, it’s all they ever do in this family. 

“You were supposed to be at the bar, Clay said you’d have no trouble getting out before the bullets started flying and don’t bring up that old shit again. I wanted to be at the hospital after you were shot, I really did but I was out with the boys taking care of business. I was trying to make things right for you.” She’s so angry she’s shaking with it. Her adrenal gland must be working overtime because she can feel the fight or flight horomone coursing through her body. She can’t feel her hands. 

“OUT OF THE… RETALIATION. Jesus, Tig,” she really is yelling now, “I didn’t want retaliation I wanted my fucking father. I wanted you Tig. They were asking me questions about my family medical history while trying to dig a slug out of my uterus. I didn’t care who held the gun, I wanted you to hold my hand.” She slams her hands into the plastic of the bed with such force one of the guard rails falls with a clatter. There are loud footsteps outside the door. 

“I…” His response is cut off by the bang of the door as it bursts open revealing Chibs, the nurse just behind him. The Scot takes in her angry face and Tig’s stiff posture in the bed and turns to the nurse. “I’ll just take those papers, yea, lass.” The nurse looks like she wants to refuse but the kutte wearing biker pulls himself up to his full height. “It’ll be fine.” The tone of his voice books no argument and Tig is nodding from the bed. They all stay silent until the door is firmly closed. 

“What the bloody hell? She was fit to call security on the two of yeh.” 

“Sorry brother. We were just talking through some things.” Leila supposes you could call it that. 

“Gimme that.” She snatches the clipboard and the paper tears as she scribbles an angry signature at the bottom of the page. “There. Family obligation handled. I’m done.” 

“Leila,” there is so much pain in Tig’s voice she almost turns around. Almost. 

“Let’s go,” she snaps to Chibs. She is already leaning past the Scot ready to rip the door open and make her grand escape when it snaps open on, “Opie?” 

“Leila?” The biker’s presence is so surprising she doesn’t fight as he pulls her into a bone crushing hug. 

“What, what are you doing here Ope, Jax said you were on some kind of family run up north.” 

“Let’s get inside,” he steps into the room closing the door behind him, “I have news.” 

Leila is curious and instantly aware that she’s the only one not completely floored by the young biker’s sudden appearance. Jax said he wouldn’t be back until after the new year but Tig and Chibs look unconcerned. “Is everything okay?” She is still trying to work through this new dynamic. 

“Did you get the meeting?” Tig is suddenly all business from his hospital bed and Leila feels her stomach drop. So Opie wasn’t handling personal business on his run. One day she’s sure she’ll drown in their lies. 

“Got it and already had it.” Chibs lets out a low whistle and Opie looks very happy with himself. 

“And?” 

“He’s in, we have to take care of the dirty part but if we do he’ll take care of the rest.” 

“He’s sure?” 

“Seemed it. Was more than willing to put up collateral if we required it.” 

“What the hell is going on?” All three men turn at her outburst and Leila stomps her foot like a petulant child. Come to think of it she has been a bit petulant recently. “What are you talking about?” 

Opie immediately looks to Tig for permission to discuss club business. 

“Have you told Clay?” 

“He was my first call, he asked me to come by and tell you in person.” 

“You can tell her then.” Finally. 

“I’ve been a bit out of touch,” Opie starts, “thought I was going to miss your whole visit, but that’s not the point. I’ve been working a bit undercover.”

“What are you a rat?” Leila is getting more than fed up with the drawn out nature of this conversation. Opie rewards the quip with a laugh and shake of his head then continues. 

“No, I’ve been talking to Mayans. Mayans who might be interested in ending this little feud and moving towards a bit of a business deal.” She remembers Piney saying there were men out there who wanted to see a lucrative end to the useless gang war but none had been willing to go public with their intentions. 

“You found someone?” 

“I found the ONE,” he’s smiling now and she’s painfully aware of how much she’s missed that smile. Opie was always a favorite when she was younger. “The Mayan VP, Alvarez, has come forward. He says if we can help him get Jorge out of the way he’ll make peace after he takes the gavel.” As though spelling it out has finally made it real Chibs lets out a triumphant whoop and claps Opie on the back. Tig is laughing in that maniacal half crazy half happy way of his. Leila feels numb. Kill Jorge and end the war, it’s great news for SAMCRO she just doesn’t know what it means for her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews of all kind are always welcome. Thank you for reading.


	10. Chapter 10

“Stop.” 

She ignores him. Her fingers are trailing a path down his side even as her lips slide up his neck. 

“Lei—la,” his voice doesn’t have any force behind it so she lets her hand trail down to cup his cloth covered erection. 

“STOP.” This time the word is accompanied by a stiff shove and she stumbles back a few steps in surprise. It’s been two days since Opie’s announcement in the hospital and Leila has been feeling more than restless. She’s angry, trapped in a place she wants to hate, and desperate for someone, anyone to notice. Juice seemed like the easiest target, apparently she was wrong. 

“What?” She refuses to admit she feels a little guilty about the way she’s been fucking him to get her mind off things. It’s selfish and she knows it. 

“Seriously?” He runs a hand down his face, “You’ve been all over me for days.” 

“And you’re stopping me because?” She sounds like a spoiled child. Maybe that’s what she is. 

“Look, I like you. You’re funny, you’ve got your shit mostly together, and you’ve,” he sends a significant glance over her form, “got a body that won’t quit but I’d rather not become your sex toy while you work out whatever shit you’ve got going on with the club.” 

“That’s not what you are.” She’s lying and they both know it. 

“What’s my real name?” Shit. She struggles for a minute trying to recall if she’d heard any of the guys use it in the last week. She certainly hadn’t asked. The silence becomes painful. “That’s what I thought. Right well, I’m here if you need me for moral support but I can’t keep doing this with you. You’re not a girl I can mess around with.” 

She has no words. She never expected this kind of maturity from the man who keeps a Gameboy color in the pocket of his kutte. 

“I gotta go,” he’s already moving towards his bike, “I have an errand to take care of for Jax,” and he’s gone. 

What the fuck just happened. Scratch that, she knows what just happened. Leila Trager, one time daughter of biker scum has finally made the transition into actually being biker scum. She is disgusted with herself. This is one mess in her life that she can’t blame on SAMCRO and she hates how much that bothers her. The club has, over the years, become the constant scape goat for everything she thinks is going wrong. She thought she was ready to give that nasty habit up but at this very moment taking responsibility for her own mistakes just seems too hard. 

She lets her eyes wander around the lot. The non-club mechanics are just pulling down the garage doors. She knows they’ve been struggling to keep up with repair and towing demands over the last few days what with all of SAMCRO on alert over the newest Mayan development. Lowell Jr says the slow down will add at least three more days to the repairs on her car. Apparently paying customers get first dibs on attention. She knows Gemma is behind that policy change. She sighs. Excess adrenaline from the almost sex still burning in her system when her eyes land on the empty boxing ring, the Everlast bag hanging innocently in the corner. Why not, she thinks, if I’m not getting laid I might as well hit something. 

* * *

She did a shit job taping her knuckles. Tig once taught her how to do it properly but that was years ago. Either way, she doesn’t plan on punching hard enough to risk breaking a knuckle. It has been forever since she had any reason to attempt to throw a punch and her first tap on the bag feels weak. She pushes harder. She can remember Tig saying something about shifting weight to get power behind the hand. 

She takes a deep breath, reaching out to steady the bag and starts again. This time she absorbs the quiet of the now empty lot, the air is cold against her cheeks and she balances on the balls of her feet as she slams her fist forward. That feels better. Sometimes it feels like everything useful she knows how to do Tig taught her but then the odds are skewed in his favor. Her mother tried to teach her to cook but what use does a moody tattoo artist have for cooking. No, Tig made sure his lessons would be more useful. She hates herself for not being able to completely walk away from her sometimes father and the club. The hits get harder. 

Jorge’s face swims before her eyes and the hate Leila feels for the almost boyfriend of her youth is staggering. Cancer took her mother, Jorge took her innocence and now SAMCRO has her freedom. She hits harder. She has no idea where all the hate is coming from. She thought she’d gotten past it in Salt Lake. She had a life there but after only a week in Charming the last three years feel like some kind of delusion. 

“Yeh’re not doing it right.” Chibs’ voice takes her off guard, she turns in surprise and is immediately unbalanced catching herself on the bag. 

“Jesus! Someone needs to put a bell on you.” His full laugh fills the clubhouse overhang. 

“I’d like to see yeh try,” there’s a challenge there; she can see it in his eyes. So they’re back to that are they. Fine. 

“So, if I’m not doing it right why don’t you show me how.” She wants him to touch her. She wants him to step up behind her, put his hands on her hips maybe press in just a bit too close and correct her stance. 

“Sorry, darlin’ but I’m not going to play that game with yeh. You might have Juicey-boy at your beck and call but I’m,” he pauses, “a bit harder to handle.” Indeed. “Don’t worry though I’ll keep yeh dirty brown secret.” His wink is just plain cocky. 

“No secret to keep. He made it very clear he’s not interested anymore.” She doesn’t know why she’s sharing this bit of information but she is rewarded with a surprised look from the Scot. 

“Now, I really doubt that’s true.” He lights a cigarette and holds the pack out to her. He waits patiently while she puts the little tube of tobacco to her lips and then lights it for her before taking care of his own. 

“It’s true, he told me he didn’t want to be my ‘sex toy’ anymore.” She loves the way the exhale makes a cloud around her words. 

“Ah, that I do believe. Juicey, he’s sensitive. He’s still too young to know that yeh have to take pussy where yeh can get it and not ask questions.” 

“Is that your philosophy then?” 

“It was,” he’s watching her now and she can’t help but feel like a science project. She has never met anyone with such soul searching eyes. “The way I see it lass, yeh’re hurting, bad too. All mad with yeh Da and the club and yeh don’t know what to do with all that energy.” 

“And what would you suggest I do with it?” She really wants to know. 

“Yeh need to focus it, set a goal or some shit.” He was doing well until that last part. She’s not sure what ‘or some shit’ is supposed to look like in practice. “And, if yeh’re going to try and dump it on a man make sure it’s a man who knows the score.” 

“Know where I could find that kind of man?” Her eyes leave no question as to who she’s hoping that man will be. She may hate the Scot just a bit for his part in the Mayan nonsense but to his credit when the bullets started flying he was the only one shoving her to the floor. 

“Nope, now step up and let’s sort yeh form.” 

He keeps to his word; they never touch. He just settles himself back on one of the picnic tables and chain smokes while shouting out encouragement and advice. They keep at it for a good hour and by the end Leila is too tired to want anything but sleep. She wonders if that was the plan all along. She bets it was, the sly bastard. “What now?” The question leaves her unbidden but she’s desperate to hear his answer all the same. 

“Now, go to bed. Alone. And tomorrow will be waiting for yeh on the other side.” 

“That’s it?” 

“Aye, luv. That’s it.” 

Finally an order she can follow. 

* * *

Five hours later and Leila is lying in Tig’s heavenly bed wide awake. It feels like the entire world is running through her brain on fast forward, the twins stare down at her erotically. Bitches. 

The last few days weigh down on her chest with crushing force. From the first phone call in Salt Lake to the panic of the shooting Leila feels like she’s aged ten years in a week. She wants someone to hold her. She hasn’t felt like this since just after her mother died and she was left floating alone in the world with nothing but an emotionally absent Tig to cling to. 

She can still remember months of lying awake in her little bed in the back room of his dirty apartment. She’d stay still for hours waiting for him to come back drunk. She would remain quiet while he stomped through the house, getting water and aspirin until, finally, he’d stumble into his room to bed. She’d sneak down the hall and making sure he was passed out she’d crawl into his bed desperate to have her father’s arms around her. It didn’t matter that he had no idea he what he was offering, she took it all the same. 

Now though, Tig’s in the hospital and she basically told him he wasn’t family anymore. God she hates herself for not hating him. He fucked her over, failed as a father in every way but if he were there now Leila would fall into his arms without a second thought. Sometimes a girl just needs to be held. 

There is no light coming from the crack under Chibs’ door and Leila is entirely aware of the serious daddy issues she must have to be standing where she is but she can’t bring herself to care. Technically the Scot only has seven years on her own 21 so at least she can rest assured in the fact that she’s not developing some kind of May/December complex. 

The door swings open with a soft squeak and she is careful when approaching the bed in case he sleeps with a gun like most of the MC. There’s movement. 

“Leila?” His voice is rough and she doesn’t know where the tears suddenly streaming down her face are coming from. “Lass? What’s wrong?” His eyes glow in the faint light from the hallway. She watches as they sweep over her face taking in the tears and her defeated posture, blanket wrapped around her shoulders against the cold. 

“I…” She starts an explanation but her voice breaks. 

“Oh Christ, girl. C’mere.” He shifts on the bed and holds out a hand. She is helpless to do anything but close the door and move towards him. “That’s it Leila-Luv.” He pulls her down to the bed and wraps both of his strong boxer’s arms around her. She settles against his bare chest with shudder. 

“I don’t know what to do,” she’s sobbing against him now, “I hate him so much,” and she’s not sure if she’s talking about Clay or Jorge or Tig. 

Chibs makes a noise of agreement in the back of his chest. One of his hands is petting her head, the other rubbing comforting circles on her back. 

“I know darlin’, I know.” He keeps talking but the words are lost on her, whispered as they are in his rough accent. It doesn’t really matter though. She’s not there for words, she’s there for the warm weight of his body against hers and the instant feeling of safety that settles into her chest when he pulls her just a bit closer. She cries herself out after a while and as the world filters back into focus phrases like “shhh”, “sleep now,” and “I got yeh,” become clear in his ramblings. 

She falls asleep pressed into his chest, she knows she doesn’t have to worry. The Scot will keep watch for her tonight. 


	11. Chapter 11

It’s been ten days since Leila first passed the cheerful welcome to Charming sign. Ten days of emotionally draining conflict and change and she is alone in Tig’s bed watching dust dance through the shafts of morning light. She’s spent the last three nights curled around Chibs, his warmth and steady breathing lulling her into fitful sleep. 

The Scot for his part is handling the situation with unexpected subtlety. During the day nothing is different. They don’t touch and he’s all business. The entire club is all business these days, the men spending endless hours in the chapel pouring over intel on Jorge. They are all desperate to see this conflict come to an end, she is desperate too. At night, however, Chibs is like a different person. He has no expectations and is usually asleep when she slips into his room after the clubhouse has gone quiet but once she’s there he’s nothing but comfort and safety. He settles his strong arms around her and she curls into his chest loving the way her body can completely disappear into his. She could stay in his bed doing nothing but being held for days but every morning he wakes her early and she shuffles down the hall to the cold sheets of Tig’s dorm. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore because today she’s getting out. A rough threat to Lowell Jr and he’d been more than happy to let her know that the Chevelle would be ready for the trip home. As an added bonus, Tig planned to sign himself out of the hospital AMA that afternoon. The only hiccup in the triumph of the day was Gemma’s announcement that everyone would be too busy to pick him up. If driving Tig home from the hospital is the price Leila has to pay for leaving Charming for good; she’ll gladly pay it. She glances sideways at the clock, 9am, time to get up. Bobby should have muffins ready by now. 

The main room of the clubhouse is packed with men. Nomads and out of states have been trickling into Charming for days now. Leila knows they’re preparing for the grand finale but that’s no longer her problem. She just grabs a muffin and settles into an empty seat between Piney and Ope. 

“There’s our favorite runaway,” Bobby practically shouts the words and Leila sinks down in her seat annoyed. 

“Are you really going to leave before it ends?” Opie is studying her carefully. She can tell he doesn’t understand her lack of interest in seeking vengeance. 

“Yep.” She chirps the word through a bite of muffin and ignores his disapproval. 

“You’re an idiot. This is your war as much as it’s ours.” Piney’s blunt statement does nothing towards weakening her resolve. She’s leaving Charming. Today. 

“I’ve got a lot to get back to. Mark, my boss, managed to knock up one of our employees, need to go sort all that bullshit out.” Piney just grunts at this bit of logic. 

“If he knocked up some other bitch he certainly doesn’t need you to sort anything out.” Gemma cuts into the conversation like she’s reading Leila’s thoughts. The queen has a point and it’s one Leila’s been trying to ignore. It may have only been ten days but she has a feeling things are going to be different in Salt Lake when she gets back. The idea makes her stomach churn uncomfortably. 

“Leave her alone,” she is surprised when Jax comes to her defense, “let her run it’s what she’s good at.” His words cut deep. She suspects there’s nothing she’ll be able to do about healing that hurt. Jax had seen her first flight from Charming as a repeat of Tara and he’d been quick to make his betrayal clear. Leila doubts they’ll ever get back to the friendly sibling relationship of her childhood but she can’t stay for him. 

* * *

Tig is already up and signing paperwork when Leila slips into his hospital room. She stares at him for a long moment, she’d forgotten how tall he was, how intimidating in his kutte. He offers her a weak smile and she attempts to return it while watching him slash his name onto the last page on the clipboard. 

“Ready to go?” She asks as he flips through the paperwork one last time and nods.

“Yep. Gemma made you come, huh?” She hadn’t realized her discomfort with the errand was that obvious. She makes a conscious effort to school her face. 

“Gemma doesn’t make me do anything. I’m here because everyone else was busy.” His face falls at the implication behind her words. She hates herself. 

“I’m sorry Leila. Is that what you want me to say, sorry, sorry, sorry. I’ll say it a million times but I don’t think it’s going to fix anything is it. You want to be mad, be mad but I’m not going to change baby girl. I know I’ve done a shit job with you but I’m all you’ve got whether you want me or not.” He dropped the clipboard to the bed at some point in this little speech and his arms are spread wide in defeat. “I just,” he starts again, “I know you’ll never think of me as a real father but I’d like to get back to you not hating me. Can we do that?” They’d already done that but she just wasn’t going to tell him yet. 

“Yea, I think it’s a possibility. You’re still a complete bastard.” He laughs at her and she’s instantly indignant because she’d certainly meant the insult. One of his hands snakes out and she’s not fast enough to avoid being pulled in for a hug. The rings on his hand are cold against her neck as he pulls her close. She’s just relaxing into the feeling of him when he stiffens against her, his entire body going tense. 

“Fuck.” 

She tries to pull away and figure out what’s going on but he’s stronger than he should be for a man just getting out of the hospital. She barely catches sight of his wide blue eyes before she’s being forced to the floor his body over hers. The loud pop, pop, pop of the gun is made all the more frightening by their surroundings. Glass shatters somewhere in the room and Leila hears several different alarms start to sound. Someone has brought death into this place of healing. 

There’s a scream from outside and she fights against Tig trying to reach for the piece still tucked into her back. She’s not going to be a sitting duck again. He’s too strong for her though, “no,” he whispers in her hair attempting to push her further behind both himself and the bed. 

Pounding feet, another gun, a smaller one, fires and Leila uses all her weight against Tig, shoving up and away from the floor. He may be naturally strong but she didn’t just spend ten days on her ass recovering from a bullet to a lung. She scrambles away from him on her hands and knees and she feels the scrapes from before reopen on the glass spread over the floor. 

There’s more panicked noise from the other side of the door and Leila pulls the .9mil free from her back holster. There’s a strangled noise from behind her and she pulls open the door to the room just as Tig lunges for her, his hand reaching for the gun. He’s too slow, she’s already half out, her feet struggling to find purchase on the wet floor. She takes a moment to register the hospital security guard sprawled her feet, blood already pooling, and then she’s off.

She doesn’t have to go far, everything in the room felt like it dragged on but she knows it’s only been seconds since the first shot shattered the calm. There are two leather covered backs retreating down the long hallway and she stops to confirm the Mayan patches. After that it’s only a matter of planting her feet and taking aim. Her entire body feels the bullet leave the barrel, her heart feels it hit home. 

* * *

The handcuffs are cold and heavy against her wrists and Leila’s surprised at how uncomfortable they are. Every time she’s seen Tig so adorned he’d looked like he was modeling the latest in biker couture. Just one more sign she’s not cut out for this life. 

“I really don’t want to do this,” Unser looks sincere. It’s not his fault really, she’s the one who pulled out an unregistered fire arm in the middle of a hospital and killed a man. Yep, she’d killed him. “Really Leila, I don’t want to.” 

“I know, I know. Don’t worry about it.” She’s settled into one of the waiting room chairs while cops circle the hallway. 

“It’ll be self defense,” Unser tries to be reassuring, “and you still have your California carry permit so it’s just a matter of the unregistered firearm.” She’s never had a California carry permit but she doesn’t mention it. She imagines this conversation is for the benefit of the Sheriffs shoving things into evidence bags not her. 

“Unser?” Clay arrived around the same time as the cops and he and Tig spent the last twenty minutes whispering in the corner of the waiting room. She watches the old police Chief jump to the SAMCRO president’s call. Like a faithful dog she knows Unser will take care of this incident like he has countless others. Until then she just has to play along. 

Leila looks down at the floor and is startled when the tilt of her head sends a shower of broken glass tumbling down. Her boots are covered in blood, the security guard’s blood. It hadn’t mattered how many doctors were standing within a twenty foot radius, he’d died instantly. She has no doubt he had kids, a wife, probably a golden retriever. There are no words. This is what SAMCRO does to Charming. This is what SAMCRO does to everything. 

She is pulled out of her thoughts when Tig kneels down in front of her. He has been trying and failing to hide his proud smile for the last hour and now that he’s got her mostly alone he lets it all the way out. She feels like the subject of a twisted Norman Rockwell painting; a father’s pride in his baby girl’s first kill. They are so fucked. 

“Try to smile less,” she snaps at him. 

“Right, right,” he makes an effort to look serious. “Okay kitten, Unser says they’re going to have to take you down to the station and put you in the cell and all. Clay’s making sure they’re going to be nice about it. Unser has already declared the shooting self-defense so they aren’t even going to file charges. We’ll get the weapons charge taken care of. Clay is paying for your carry permit as we speak.” 

“How long do I have to stay?” She hates how small her voice sounds. She is terrified. 

“Just the night. They’ll let us bail you out in the morning.” She meant in Charming but his answer works all the same. She is going to jail. The thought settles over her like a shadow and she tries and fails to keep back the tears. “Hey, hey,” Tig’s hands are suddenly framing her face, his eyes full of concern, “it’ll be okay. It’s the town jail, you’ll be alone in a cell. Think of it as a vacation from all this.” 

It’s worse than the night with the punching bag as everything from the last ten days settles over her and the shooting of the unnamed Mayan assailant is the final straw. Tig looks startled by the first sob but he reaches for her on the second and she loops her cuffed hands around his neck. He smells familiar and she sinks into the rare fatherly embrace. “Daddy,” Her voice breaks on the word and she feels like a child, “I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, hey,” she bets none of his victims would guess his voice can sound so gentle, “it’s going to be okay. You did good kitten.” She wonders which part was good, fighting her way out of his protection or the murder. It doesn’t matter, not really, because he’s rubbing her back, one of his killer hands cradling her head against the leather of his kutte. 

“It’s time to go.” Unser is back. She pulls away from Tig with a shaky breath. 

“Okay.” She lifts her arms over his head and he helps her to stand. 

“Love you kitten, stay hard.” The kiss he presses to her wet cheek is sloppy and unpracticed but she doesn’t protest. Stay hard; feels like she’s made of jello. 

“Love you too.” She does. She always will. 

It is a long ride to the station and while Leila doesn’t turn around to look she is very aware of the rumble of bikes behind the cruiser for the duration. SAMCRO takes care of family. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Reviews are welcome.


	12. Chapter 12

The first part of her night in jail isn’t as bad as Leila thought it would be. Tig was right, the whole experience was almost peaceful. The bed may have been thin and the cell cold but she likes the quiet. She never does manage to fall asleep and for the first few hours she thinks she’s going to make it through without breaking down. Tig’s order to ‘stay hard’ bounces around in her head and she wants to obey but by two AM the reality of the situation has set in. 

She, Leila Trager, has killed a man. He was a bad man, a man who had certainly taken many lives but he was a man all the same. She wonders if she’ll spend the rest of her life reliving that moment in the hallway. The desperate struggle with Tig, the the desire to not end up helpless and hurt again, taking aim at a living breathing person, and the finality of pulling the trigger. She knows she’ll never forget the way the Mayan slumped to the floor like a puppet with it’s strings cut. Her boots are still bloodstained. She waits patiently for bail. 

Unser manages to look appropriately apologetic the next morning when he delivers the news that she won’t be able to leave the state until the weapons charges have been taken care of. “A week or two at most,” he offers like he’s doing her a favor. Leila settles herself back on the thin jail cell cot and tries to remember what it felt like to not have blood on her hands.

“That’s fine” she tries to be understanding. “When will bail be posted?” 

“Tig’s here now, we’re just finishing the paperwork.” She is surprised Tig came to get her himself. This is the type of job she thought would be delegated to the prospect. She sighs, considering her current relationship with the prospect she wouldn’t be surprised if Juice had refused to come. She wonders if Chibs is worried. 

It’s twenty minutes before Unser is back, this time keys in hand. He unlocks the cell door, offers one more warning about not leaving the state until the charges are taken care of and then she’s free. Sort of. 

Tig is, as promised, on his bike at the bottom of the station steps and Leila gives him a shy smile. He smiles back. Maybe things will be better between them now that they’re both killers. She doubts it. 

“You look horrible.” At least he’s comfortable being honest with her. She makes a face at him. 

“I didn’t sleep.” He leers at her. 

“Did Unser do something he shouldn’t have?” Tig’s voice is serious but he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“You’re disgusting. I’m your daughter.” 

“I know,” he holds out the helmet and gives her an obvious once over, “but it keeps getting harder and harder to remember why that matters.” His look is certainly not paternal. She just snatches the helmet and climbs on the bike. It may be out of line but she knows this is Tig’s way of getting things back to normal. Incestuous innuendos are their normal. Great. 

* * *

By the time they pull into the Tellow Morrow lot Leila is more than happy Tig was the one to pick her up. She hadn’t realized how bone weary she really was until she almost drifts off against his back. He is the only man she knows who makes her that comfortable on the back of bike. She’ll take small favors where she can get them. He doesn’t back in at the clubhouse just drops her off at the door. “I’ve got a few things to get done. Go sleep.” He doesn’t have to tell her twice. 

The main room is mostly deserted. The remnants of whatever baked good Bobby made for breakfast are still spread across the bar and someone left the orange juice out. Piney is asleep on the sofa by the pool table. She leaves the older man to his late morning nap and heads for the dorm. She takes the orange juice. 

She trips her way into Tig’s room, juice at her mouth and she’s just kicked the door closed behind her when the hand wraps around her arm. Her reaction is instinctual, striking out wildly, orange juice goes everywhere as she flings the carton into her assailant. 

“Jeysus,” Chibs’face swims into view and she relaxes instantly. Someone really does need to put a bell on that man. 

“What are you doing in here?” Her voice is edgier than she wants it to be but she really can’t help herself. She feels disgusting and the Scot looks woefully out of place in Tig’s room. 

“I wanted to make sure yeh were okay.” He’s still standing near the foot of the bed and she’s suddenly aware of how tired he looks. There are bags under his eyes and his clothes look like he slept in them. In fact, the bed looks slept in despite having been made when she left. Did he sleep here? She knows Tig didn’t, he was going to stay at Clay and Gemma’s until he officially had all his stitches out. Gemma was worried about infections and sweet-butts. They’d had a whole fight about it over the phone. “I wouldn’t say slept really.” Chibs’ words pull her back to the situation at hand. 

“Were you,” she almost doesn’t want to ask the question for fear of the answer, “worried about me?” Well, it’s out there now. 

“Mother Mary of Christ, was I-,” he tuns away from her for a moment and his hands tug at his shaggy hair in frustration, “was I worried about yeh? Of course, I was bloody well worried about yeh. I get a phone call from Tig saying yeh have to spend the night in jail because yeh killed a man. Leila I was beside myself.” He shouts the last part and his eyes are so wild she takes a step back automatically. He lunges at her then and for a moment she actually thinks he’s going to hurt her, but no. 

His hands catch her hips and her back all but slams into the door of the dorm. He’s got a good seven inches on her and she has to crane her neck to look up at his scarred face. He looks feral, and she is scared to move as one of his hands blazes a trail up her side to grasp her chin. He turns her head from side to side, moving her hair out of the way as he trails the hand down to the zipper on her leather jacket. It sounds unimaginably loud as it slides down and his fingers follow in its wake, feather light. He steps back then, although, the hand still on her hip makes it clear she’s not to move. He’s inspecting her she realizes; looking for injuries, this was a man looking for damage to his property. Was she his then? 

“Chibs?” His eyes snap back up to her face. 

“Are yeh hurt?” She wonders what he’ll do if she says yes. 

“Not physically.” 

“Aye, okay.” His eyes are searching her face and she wants so badly to know what he’s looking for. She’d give it to him. 

She’s reaches for him slowly, moving like she would with a caged animal but he doesn’t protest when her hands fist in the open edges of his kutte and steps forward willingly when she gives a tug. His body settles against hers and after the last few nights the feeling is so familiar it almost hurts. They stay like that for a moment, eyes locked, perfectly still, waiting for what she doesn’t know. She has no idea who moves first but when his lips slam down on to hers it’s electric. 

She moves against him immediately, arching up on her toes to try and increase the contact even as he slants his mouth to deepen the kiss. His teeth graze her bottom lip and she moans against him. His reaction is brutal, he bends his knees just enough to get both hands under her ass and with a graceful jerk her feet are off the ground. She wraps her legs around his narrow boxer’s waist and pulls at his hair. He growls into her mouth. 

She is the one to break the kiss, trailing her hot lips down his neck. She wants more than a kiss, she wants to mark him, she wants him to take her up against the door. He makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat when she sucks one ear lobe, grazing the skin with her teeth. She is further rewarded when he shifts her, one of his big hands sliding up her torso to cup a breast through her shirt, she arches forward desperately. 

“Open yer eyes.” She snaps them open without question. The fingers of his left hand are still rolling one cloth covered nipple and his eyes are darker than she’s ever seen them. He’s watching her and Leila wonders what he sees in her that makes her worth the effort. The hand on her breast stops it’s movement and his face falls just enough for it to be noticeable. “We can’t do this.” So he doesn’t like what he found. She doesn’t put up any resistance as he eases her back on to her feet. 

“Why can’t we?” She is desperate and wet for him and she’s praying it doesn’t show. She wants to be better than that. 

“Do yeh still plan on leaving at the first opportunity?” 

“Yes,” She tries to sound defiant in her honesty. 

“Then we can’t,” there is a finality to his voice that destroys her. She can feel him half hard against her stomach and she knows if she pressed the issue he wouldn’t be able to resist. If she wanted him she could have him but she doesn’t want him like that. She nods. 

“Will you stay at least? While I sleep I mean?” She hates the pleading note in her voice but he nods his agreement. 

She takes a long hot shower trying to wash the scent of death and jail off her skin. When she finally steps back into the bedroom she half expects him to be gone but he’s still there, reclining against the headboard, bike mag in his lap. Her boots are no longer bloody and Leila smiles at the idea of the gruff Scot with shoe polish and a rag. A man of surprises. 

“You’re really going to stay?” She doesn’t think she’s ever been this needy in her entire life. She’s never killed a man before either, things change. 

“Aye pet. It’s why I’m here.” He doesn’t offer to leave while she puts her sleep clothes on so she just turns her back and drops the towel. Maybe the sight of her wet, naked body will teach him to say no. When she crawls onto the bed next to him, only moments later now in a baggy t-shirt and shorts, she can clearly see his denim contained erection. He doesn’t try to start anything though, just lets her get comfortable. She curls up on her stomach next to him and she feels one heavy hand settle on her back. “Sleep now Leila-Luv.” She does. 

* * *

When she wakes up Tig is sitting with his back to her at the foot of the bed and Chibs is nowhere in sight. 

“You fucking the Scot now?” His bluntness would have made Piney proud, the betrayed tone of his voice makes Leila nervous. 

“Not yet,” she can’t help the quip, maybe it will help to hide her unease. 

“Funny,” Tig’s voice makes it clear he thinks it’s anything but, “the foreigner just said no.” That cuts deep. 

“This is none of your business.” She wants him to stop before he makes her already cracked heart shatter. 

He turns to look at her for a long moment. “I never wanted this for you Leila and I don’t want it for you now.” 

“What?” She is confused. From the very day she was born and he put a pink SAMCRO beanie on her head everything Tig has ever done has pushed her closer to the club. 

“The club life,” he sounds like a man defeated, “I may not have done a good job of it but I did try to keep you away from the worst of it. I never wanted you to be a killer. I never wanted to raise a mini Gemma. As much as I’ve missed you I was so proud the day you left. You’ve made something of yourself.” He pauses and Leila wonders where all this is coming from. “You can do better than being some biker’s Old Lady. I want you to.” His hand comes up revealing a hidden bottle and as he takes a long swig Leila understands. Everything she’s ever wanted him to say to her and she doesn’t get to hear it until he’s booze soaked and guilty. 

“Do you need the bed daddy? Maybe it’s time you go to sleep.” 

“Yea,” he’s slurring just a bit, “you know Gemma’s so excited you’re going to be here for Christmas. You know she loves you right, we all love you. She’s going to help me pick out your present.” Leila climbs out from under the covers and moves towards him. He doesn’t protest as she kneels in front of him, her fingers moving to undo the laces on his riding boots. 

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” She takes the bottle from his limp hand, dodging his attempt to grab at it and pushes him down until he’s on his back. “It’s been a bit since you’ve had this much to drink hasn’t it.” He laughs at that and one ring laden hand comes up to run down her cheek. 

“You look just like your mother, do you know that? Except for that damn hair of course, why’d you do that Leila? Why’d you change it?” Her throat closes on a reply. She’d changed it because she looked like her mother, she hated staring at a dead woman in the mirror every morning. “You were always my little sunshine, I used to sing that to you when you were a baby, I bet you don’t remember. Ha, do you remember when I took you shooting kitten and I told you not to go to jail for weapons charges, you fucked that one up didn’t you.” He laughs up at the ceiling and Leila hopes he’s drunk enough to miss her wet eyes. 

“I remember. Go to sleep.” She presses a kiss to his forehead and leaves him spread out on his back. As she’s leaving the room she hears him start talking to the naked twins tacked up over the bed. 

“Did you miss me girls? I missed you,” she laughs through her tears. 

* * *

Juice is the only one still in the main room of the clubhouse, although judging by the sounds emanating from the other dorms he’s not the only one still awake. Leila settles herself onto the neighboring barstool and silently accepts the beer he offers. 

“You alright? You’ve had a busy few days.” She’s so focused on pouring over what Tig rambled out only minutes earlier, trying to force it all into her permanent memory bank, that it takes a second for her register the prospect was talking to her. 

“What? Oh, yea. I guess it has been. I don’t know. What about you? Are you okay?” She is emotionally drained and a change of topic seems like the way to go. 

“I’m fine, I guess.” The statement is so unlike the Juice she has come to know that she forces herself to take a moment to really look at him. He’s perfectly still, something is wrong. 

“Are you sure?” 

“I guess, no, I don’t know.” He drops his head onto the bar and an idea hits her. 

“It’s not, because of us… or” She wants to say because of me and Chibs but stops herself. She’s felt like enough of a whore over the last few days, confirming the state of her twisted romantic life would only dig up things best left buried.

She’s slightly offended when he snorts in disbelief, “No, its not about us. Or you and Chibs.” So he knows. “It’s this Mayan thing. It’s all coming to a head you know?” She did know. “That shit with you at the hospital that was because Jorge knows we’re getting close. We haven’t found him yet but it’s only a matter of time and then he’s done.” 

“But that’s a good thing?” Her voice is falsely bright even in her own ears but she doesn’t know what else to say. Jorge’s death would bring peace and money to SAMCRO and they all want that. 

“Yea.” His voice is rough and when he lifts his head off the bar his eyes are suspiciously bright. “But he’s not going to go quietly. You’ve seen the backup rolling into town.” She had, there was an army in the clubhouse these days. “Don’t get me wrong, I want it all to end but Leila,” His eyes close slowly and she wants to ignore the tears that slip out from under his lashes, “I’m scared.” 

Suddenly, so was she. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a 2 part update.

“Wake up.” The gruff, heavily accented voice cuts through the last vestiges of Leila’s hard earned sleep. Juice had finally passed out on the bar and with Tig drunk in his dorm she had been without a bed. She’d tried Chibs’ door but found it very firmly locked, not surprising. She had no idea what Tig had walked in on the night before but considering his reaction she had no doubt it was revealing. She stares up at the very angry looking Scot standing over her, yes, it must have been very revealing. 

“What do you want?” There is no softness to her voice, she is tired of letting him be in charge. 

“Yeh’re on my jumper. I need it.” So she is. She doesn’t remember where she found the ratty black hoodie but it had smelled like him so she’d used it as a pillow. She feels like a love-sick teenager. The toe of his scuffed riding boot taps in impatience and she has apparently taken too long to move because he just rips the cloth out from under her head. 

“Jesus, you don’t have to be an ass about it. Where are you going?” She watches in unabashed appreciation as his t-shirt rides up during his stretch to pull the sweater on revealing a sliver of toned stomach. 

“I’m off to do some very dull recon.” 

“Why will it be dull?” 

“Newest brothers get the worst jobs.” 

“What about the prospect, his job should be worse still.” 

He laughs at that. “Aye, he’s stuck tailing Gemma. When did yeh get so optimistic?” 

“I don’t know. Can I come?” 

“What?” He’s bent sideways checking the fit of his shoulder holster. 

“Can I come with you?” She doesn’t know why she wants to go but there’s nothing better to do and any time spent pressed up against him on the back of a bike will not be time wasted. 

He studies her for a long moment with hard eyes and he must find what he’s looking for because he nods once. “Why not. Yeh’ll keep quiet and do what I say.” She scoffs. 

“No problem there, seems to be the story of my life these days.” He just gives her a gruff shake of the head. 

“Dress warm it’s gotten colder.” Yes, she thinks, it has. 

* * *

Chibs wasn’t exaggerating when he said it had gotten colder, Leila didn’t even know California got this cold. She is pressed tight against him and her face buried in his back, she can’t feel her nose. He takes pity on her as they brake for a light and his hands fall down to rub up and down her thighs. 

“Yeh okay Leila-Luv?” She just nods into his leather. She doesn’t know when she became so desperate for his touch but she’s not going to risk complaining now. 

It takes another thirty minutes to roll to a stop near the abandoned warehouse they’re supposed to be investigating. It’s a massive compound on the edge of Lodi and as Leila stares down at the dilapidated structure she wonders why the club thinks anyone would hide out here. Chibs must have a similar thought since he agreed to bring her along. Even so, they ride up to the chain link fence that surrounds the property slow and quiet. 

Chibs is off the bike as soon as the kickstand hits the ground and Leila shifts awkwardly on the bitch seat watching as he pulls a giant set of bolt cutters out of one saddle bag. The rusted metal of the fence gives way like butter and it only takes seconds for a hole large enough for the Scot to appear. He looks tense, she can see the muscles in his shoulders bunching under his shirt and his eyes never leave the building in front of them. “Take these,” he’s holding out the bolt cutters, “don’t leave the bike. I’ll be right back.” She slides off the dyna and takes the heavy hardware from him. He doesn’t spare her another glance as he slides through the fence, moving in a crouch towards the back of the building. It’s broad daylight and he stands out against the pavement like a sore thumb. At least he remembered to take off his club colors. 

If Leila had known her job would be to guard the bike she wouldn’t have come. She’d watched him slide into the back of the closest building, revolver drawn, but that had been twenty minutes ago and she was now bored. The warehouses before her were still and she was pretty sure she could see significant fire damage on the largest one. No one was going to hide here. 

She lets her mind wander to the conversation with Juice the night before. She’d felt bad for the prospect as she’d watched him drink himself to sleep, scared of what was coming next. The incident at the hospital had really shaken him up and she’d listened quietly, her stomach churning, while he quietly admitted that he’d never killed a man and he was terrified that she’d had to. Apparently that meant his time was coming soon. Leila wonders how long it will take for killing to become just another part of his life. How long until Juice is just a little Tig? The thought is bitter.

She is so deep in her thoughts on the matter that she doesn’t see the black SUV until it is pulling to a stop in front of the farthest building. She watches with a pounding heart as five heavily armed men climb out and then, suddenly he’s there. Even from great distance Leila recognizes the set of his shoulders, and she imagines she can see his hard green eyes, eyes so rare in a brown face. Jorge. Shit, shit, shit. Her mind rushes into overdrive and she is torn between rushing after Chibs and starting up the bike to make her own escape. Chibs wins, hands down. 

She is completely unarmed, not having had time to get a new gun from Tig after the hospital but it doesn’t matter. She rushes through the fence and across the pavement, careful to keep out of sight. The men from the SUV are starting towards the door of the closest warehouse, the one Chibs disappeared into just minutes ago. By the time she eases herself silently through the backdoor she can already hear heavily accented voices coming from the front of the building. Fuck. The structure is huge, several stories tall with hanging metal walkways and it’s filled with cargo containers, stacked and stored. She’ll never manage to find the Scot in time. It occurs to her that she might die here, but she forges on slipping quietly into the darkened room, using the containers for cover. 

She moves as far into the grand space as she dares but stills when the voices from the front become clear. 

“We’ll take it all.”

“Where to boss?” 

“We’re moving to the Modesto site.” 

Modesto? Jorge must really be on the run either that or the Mayans are looking to invest in some new territory. Both options are dangerous. Leila is just turning to head back towards the exit when the arm slides around her waist, she starts to scream but a hand clamps over her mouth and she is forced against the side of a shipping container. She struggles wildly until Chibs’ angry eyes come into focus and she sags against him in relief. He nods up and when her eyes follow his and she spots the armed man pacing the walkway above them, it’s like cold water down her back. She knows her eyes must go wide above the Scot’s hand because of the smug look on his face. 

He puts a finger to his lips and she nods in agreement. His hand slides away from her face and nods towards the backdoor. One of his warm hands finds hers and they start their slow and silent move towards safety. Leila’s entire body feels stiff with fear and she’s following Chibs’ lead careful to muffle her footsteps. They turn the last corner and Leila feels her whole body relax at the sight of the door, safety. 

The sound of Chibs’ boot hitting the edge of the metal container is deafening, it fills the entire space and Leila feels her entire body tighten as the sound drifts into a significant silence. For one blissful moment the entire world stops and Leila feels optimism blossoming in her chest but the shout that goes up behind them leaves no doubt as to their current predicament. There’s another beat and then, “Fuck!,” Chibs’ voice startles her into motion even as the first of the gunshots ping off the shipping container near her head. And then they are running. 

She is certain the foreign boxer is going to dislocate her shoulder the way he’s pulling on her as he rushes them towards the door. The shouts get louder behind them and as they burst into the brightness of the afternoon Leila is painfully aware of bullets hitting the door behind them. Chibs puts on a burst of speed and she feels like a ragdoll as she tries to force her smaller legs to keep up with his bounding strides. There’s a loud bang from their backs and Leila hears the tell tale pitter patter of bullets showering the pavement behind them. 

She can see the bike waiting patiently on the other side of the cut fence and Leila forces herself to find the energy to make the last few feet. Her jeans catch on the chain link and Chibs pulls her forward with such force she’s certain he’s going to rip her in half. As it is the denim gives way and Leila feels the sharp sting of metal slicing through skin but she has no time to worry about this newest injury because the Scot is forcing her onto the back of the bike, and before she’s even wrapped her arms around him the dyna roars to life and they shoot away. She doesn’t look back as they take the turn onto the highway without slowing, she has no desire to know if they’re being chased. 

They fly down the stretch of highway towards Charming and Leila keeps her eyes closed against the blur of the world. They have to be going at least a hundred and despite the near death experience Leila is terrified the Scot is going to lay the bike down as he zooms between cars. Even with her fear she knows they are slowing much too soon and she feels her heart jump when she realizes they’re leaving the interstate. She is helpless to do anything but hang on as the Scot pulls them down a slow side street. They are still in the industrial district and Chibs is taking soft turns between the standing warehouses. He finally turns them into a secluded alley between two abandoned looking buildings and when he cuts the engine the silence is heavy. 

A terrifying thought occurs to her, “Oh my god Chibs, are you, were you hit?” 

He doesn’t answer and for a moment she thinks maybe he can’t. There are images of the foreign biker dying in her arms flashing through her mind and as a result she is caught completely off guard when he suddenly moves. Grabbing her violently, he lifts her off the bike and she is slammed against the far wall, her head hits the cinderblocks with a painful crack. 

“What the-“ An arm shoved against her throat cuts off her ability to speak and Leila is already seeing stars as she stares up at his face struggling for breath. His eyes scream murder. 

“What the bloody hell were yeh thinking.” His voice is low but deadly, “what did I tell yeh to do? What?” He punctuates the question with a shake and with every convulsion her head scrapes against the wall. She lets out a choking sound against his arm and he releases her throat. “Well?” He is waiting for an answer. 

“Don’t leave the bike,” her voice is rough and she is desperate to reach a hand up and massage her throat but he’s got her by the arms now and she can feel his hands digging in with bruising force. 

“That’s fucking right,” he growls the words into her face and she shakes against him. 

“I’m sorry,” she starts, “I saw them pull up and I came to get you.” 

“Yer a bloody fucking stupid woman. Dangerous too. Got a death wish do yeh Leila?” He shakes her again.

“I, I,” She has no idea what to do in the wake of his anger.

“Mother a’Christ.” His voice is steel and he’s staring down at her with cold eyes. She knows what she must look like, dirty tear stained face, pale with fear and anger. His eyes soften, “Oh fuck me,” the words leave him like a plea, his breath hot against her face. 

His lips capture hers with force and there’s nothing sweet or reassuring about this kiss, it’s all brute strength and anger. He doesn’t ask for permission, just bites at her bottom lip and then his tongue is there, forcing it’s way into her mouth. She all but climbs him in response, body surging forward and she hooks one leg over his hip forcing him closer. She moves her mouth against his and is rewarded with the freedom of her hands, she tangles one into his choppy hair instantly, pulling hard. Adrenaline and lust are raging through her body and she’s more than willing to give in. 

He growls into her and one hand grips her hip while the other slides under her shirt. There is no finesse to his movements as he pushes her bra out of the way and tweaks a nipple, hard. She’s moving against him desperately and she can feel his erection stiff against her stomach, she breaks the kiss with a moan her hands struggling with his belt even as he bites into the skin of her neck. 

Leila cries out at the feel of his teeth and she pushes up onto her toes to give him better access, her fingers abandoning the snap of his jeans. He’s having none of that, and he releases her for a moment, undoing his own belt and then hers. She whines at his absence and suddenly he’s there again, his hands griping her hips lifting her against the rough wall, pushing her jeans and boyshorts down as he moves. He presses against her with all his weight and the handles of his holstered knives bite into her torso. His lips find hers again and she drinks him in, desperate for more, she’ll take anything he’s willing to give. 

She gasps when one of his hands moves between them and his fingers slide through wet folds, oh she’s so ready for this. He’s supporting her against the wall with one arm now and she moans long and low in her throat when he pushes one, two, fingers up into her waiting body. He must be satisfied with what he finds between her legs because his fingers slide out leaving her hollow and he trails the wet digits down her neck, his mouth following. 

She shifts just a bit and he moves to meet her, his length is poised at her entrance and he is about to surge forward. 

“Wait.” His head snaps up at her gasped word and his eyes are feral, she can’t help the shiver that slides down her spine. “What’s your real name?” His smile is predatory deepening scars into dimples. 

“Filip Telford.” 

“Okay then,” she nods, “go ahead.” His laugh at her ridiculousness turns into a moan as he surges forward burying himself to the hilt in her welcoming body. He drops his head to her shoulder and she can just hear him muttering in what she assumes is Gaelic because she certainly can’t make out a word. He fills her completely and she can feel her inner walls stretching to accommodate his girth. She shifts her hips against his experimentally and is rewarded with a twinge of pleasure up her spine. 

“Jeysus Christ,” his voice is thunder as he starts to move, his back snapping forward with the effort of keeping her off the ground. Leila’s eyes slam shut at the force of it and she digs her nails into his shoulders leaving indents in the leather of his jacket. He’s moving against her almost violently and despite the anxiety of the moment Leila can feel her orgasm building quickly as the angle drives his pelvic bone against her clit. His face is still pressed into her shoulder and he’s whispering against her skin, his hot breath spreading goosebumps in it’s wake. 

One of his hands finds its way back under her shirt and his fingers pull viciously at a pierced nipple. Pain flashes through her system followed by pleasure as she comes apart against him, her body arching forward off the wall and the moan he lets out when her body squeezes tight around him reverberates through her entire form. It doesn’t take long for him to follow her over the edge, his thrusts becoming erratic and she’s still pulsing from her own release when she feels him come undone inside her clenching body. 

His mouth leaves a trail of sloppy kisses up her neck and when his lips find hers all of the bruising force from before is gone. He drags his mouth against hers, soft and hot even as he eases her back to her feet. She finds solid ground, his now soft member slips from between her legs and she can feel their combined fluids running down her thighs. She is a sloppy, boneless mess of a woman and she loves it. Her body aches in all the right places and she knows she’ll be sore tomorrow but for now she just watches Chibs unsure of what comes next. 

His sudden gentleness is a sharp contrast to the angry man who just took her against a wall and Leila stays still while he pulls her pants up before fixing his own clothes. 

“What now?” She asks softly because the enormity of the situation is finally starting to sink in and she’s shaking violently from cold, fear, or the sex she doesn’t know. 

“Honestly, darlin’” he’s searching her face with his now familiar intensity, “I have no idea.” 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of a 2 part update. If you have not read ch 13 yet go back to that.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Jax has been repeating the same phrase at regular intervals throughout the conversation. Leila doesn’t know if his words are directed at her for ignoring orders at the warehouse, or Chibs for taking her in the first place. So far, she has chosen to completely ignore him but Chibs is slowly building towards some kind of explosion. She hopes it ends up pointed in the right direction. 

“You’re sure he said Modesto?” Clay has had them all gathered around bar of the clubhouse for the last hour going over the events at the warehouse. She has answered every question they have over and over again and she is ready to climb into bed, any bed, and get some sleep. Tig is weighing on her mind and she doesn’t even want to delve into the ramifications of what happened against the wall with Chibs. Luckily that part of the afternoon has not come up for group discussion. She doubts it will stay that way. 

Chibs had pulled them into the lot just as the other brothers were returning from their own recon missions. Leila didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it certainly hadn’t been for the Scot to shout out their victory at finding Jorge first thing. Honestly, she’d been hoping he would give her time to get cleaned up, maybe they could have talked about how he fucked her up against a wall. But no, she still had cum drying on the inside of her thighs and Chibs was ready to hold a war meeting. 

Her father’s reaction had been a whole other disaster, he is a problem Leila doesn’t think she’ll ever manage to completely solve, the man is a mystery. Tig had been on Chibs like a shot and after getting the cliff-notes version of the afternoon minus the sex, he’d turned to Leila. He’d barely had her in his arms when he stiffened, his nostrils flaring. She had tensed too, she knew what he was smelling. There was no doubt in her mind that she smelled like sweat, gunpowder, and sex. Apparently Tig remembered their drunken chat about not getting tangled up with a club man. She remembered it too but she’d been a little too caught up in almost dying and then a very primal celebration of life. Fatherly advice had not been top of mind. 

“Leila?” Chibs’ voice breaks through her reminisces and she snaps to attention. 

“Yes?”

“You’re sure they said Modesto?” Clay looks less than amused that he has to repeat himself. 

“Yes, for god sakes YES. Can we be done now. I’ve had a rough day and I’d like to get to bed.” Her words seem to trigger something in Jax because the young biker is away from the table and out the door like someone’s chasing him. 

“Go.” Clay’s voice is hard and she doesn’t need to be told twice. As she’s leaving she hears Bobby start a debate on whether or not the information is reliable anymore and she knows they’ll be at the bar arguing all night. 

Tig’s dorm door is locked and when she presses her ear to the door she can hear her father making noises no daughter should ever be privy to. So he’d found himself a little distraction, great. She thinks about drifting down to Chibs’ room but she has no idea where she stands with the Scot after their encounter in the alley. It was a very good fuck but it was also fueled by mutual fear and anxiety, she’d rather him not find her dozing in his bed just yet. 

* * *

Jax is sitting on one of the outdoor picnic tables, cigarette dangling from one hand when Leila drifts outside. With nowhere to sleep and rejoining the now raging debate in the common room out of the question she feels trapped, the cold, drizzling rain dripping from the clubhouse overhang just intensifies her frustration. She pulls a cig from her own pack and settles herself on the table across from her sometimes brother. 

“Can I bum a light?” Jax lets out an exasperated sigh but holds out his bic all the same. She snatches it, “What is your problem?” She’s tired of this angry parody of the Jax she knew. 

“Are you kidding me?” His voice is angry, apparently there’s no rev up to this fight, they’re just going all in. 

“No, I’m not.” She is going to hold her ground, Jax is too arrogant for his own good and if he has something to say she wants to hear it. 

“Fine, you’re my problem. You leave three years ago without a fucking backwards glance despite,” she opens her mouth to argue but he just raises his voice, “despite everything we did to try and make you stay and now you just waltz back in here like everything is fine.” 

“I’m certainly not pretending everything is fine Jackson. This whole thing is one big fuck up after another.” He tears his hands through his hair and his face is hard against her argument. 

“You’re making it fucked up. Do you even know what it did to Tig when you left. He’d already lost Fawn and Dawn to that bitch but he thought he still had you and then you just leave after everything.” Is he really going to turn this into a ‘bad daughter’ discussion? Oh, she’d blow his goddamned mind. 

“I was shot Jax, I know that shit is everyday business for SAMCRO but it wasn’t one of you who woke up in the hospital alone and listened to a doctor say ‘I’m sorry but you’ll never have children’ I needed time to deal with that shit and it seemed best to handle it away from the association that got me a bullet.” He’s on his feet in a second and she is already bracing for the punch she’s sure is coming. 

“Oh, so it was SAMCRO that got you shot was it. You know what Leila go, go back to Salt Lake and spread that fucking rumor to all your little pussy friends. I bet they eat that shit up don’t they? Poor Leila got wrapped up in a biker gang and was the victim. That’s bullshit. You grew up SAMCRO you know what that means and you still started stepping out with a fucking Mayan prospect. You can blame the club all you want but you got yourself shot and your stupidity landed us in this fucked up mess to begin with.” And there it was. 

Jax Teller just said, out loud, the one thought Leila had been forcing herself not to have for three long years. She had grown up in the club, she did know what she was doing when she started seeing Jorge, and she had been avoiding any responsibility for years. She thinks she might actually be having a heart attack. She feels frozen in place and there’s no air left in the world, she forces a deep shuddering breath just as Jax starts up again. 

“You know what Leila go fuck yourself, if you’ve got a death wish go take care of it but don’t put it on SAMCRO’s shoulders. You almost got Chibs killed today, a brother, you’re stupidity almost got a brother killed. You’re a croweater’s bastard kid, you’re not really family so don’t pretend we have to keep you around.” With that one last twist of the knife Jax throws down his cigarette and leaves her destroyed. 

Get out, get out, have to get out. Run, run, run. The words pound through her head with more force than they did three years before and she’s walking towards the Chevelle on instinct. Her hand lands on the driver’s side door handle when she remembers the boot. Insurance Gemma had called it, “don’t need the police coming down on the club because you flew the coop,” what a bitch. 

Leila is straddling Tig’s bike before she’s even aware of what she’s doing, he always leaves a spare key magnetized under the tank, just in case. She knows the basics of riding, Tig taught her on a dirt bike when she was a kid. Oh, Tig, the memory brings her father to the forefront of her mind. Did he think of her as a ‘croweater’s bastard’ he’d certainly never married her mother, he let Leila keep his name but he was never technically her guardian. In fact, he’d been the one to get the emancipation papers together after Margaret died. At the time Leila’d thought it was great, she was going to be a free teen, but now. Did he do it because he wanted to distance himself? 

Her fingers shake so hard it takes three tries to get the helmet on but her foot is steady as she toes up the kickstand. The dyna roars to life under her and she kicks it into gear without a problem. The first few minutes are a bit rough as she struggles to get her heavy breathing regulated and control the bike. Tig’s Harley is infinitely heavier than the dirt bike from years ago and she is still recovering from the effects of three shootings. Eventually though, she gets comfortable and by the time she’s passing the “Thank you for visiting Charming” sign she feels a calm resolve settle in. 

She can’t leave the state, so Salt Lake is out, but she can get as far from everything and everyone as possible. California is a big place, she can go up to Redding or down to San Diego; where doesn’t matter. She’ll start over, Mark is going to be wrapped up in having a kid, she doubts he’ll even miss her if she moves on and starts fresh at a new shop. She’s talented, she’s got money, she can make it somewhere new. She can change her name, give Tig complete freedom, he’ll never have to claim her again. Chibs won’t miss her, she’s a second generation croweater, the alley was just him taking what she owed. For some reason this last bit of logic hurts more than the rest. 

All these thoughts have Leila more than distracted and she’s on I5 before she’s even knows where she’s going. The rain has picked up and it’s hitting her face like a thousand tiny razor blades. She cranks the throttle wanting to get away faster and the world blurs around her. There’s a wild rush of adrenaline and she knows why the guys like this so much. With the bike rumbling wildly beneath her she feels free and untethered. She can go anywhere, she can do anything, she’s literally flying through the world. The rain is so hard now the road in front of her is nothing but a great grey blur. She is invincible. 

She feels the drifting of the bike but doesn’t see the slick yellow line of highway paint drift under the front tire until it’s too late. The dyna slides to the right and she pulls hard but the Harley is far too heavy for her slight frame. Her heart thunders as she realizes the whole thing is going to go down and she reacts on instinct throwing herself free of the still revving machine just before it goes completely flat. There’s a fierce squeal of rubber on wet pavement and for a moment she really is flying through the air. 

The pavement steals the breath from her body when she lands. The world is a twist of swirling sky and road as she tumbles along the abandoned stretch of highway, she is acutely aware of the rub of asphalt on her bare skin even as she tumbles over once more and there is a sickening crack. Leila lies still on the side of the road for a long moment, rain still lashing down. Her entire body feels as though it has been set on fire and she can feel her left arm bent at an unnatural angle. Tig’s bike is probably in a million pieces spread out behind her and all she can do is blink up at the stormy sky while her world goes dark. 


	15. Chapter 15

Leila regains consciousness in a wave of soft white light, Tig’s face coming into focus slowly, Gemma hovering behind him like an angry hen. The beep of a heart monitor followed by the other soft sounds that make up a hospital’s soundtrack whisper to Leila that this time she has really fucked up. 

“Is she waking up?” 

“Finally.” 

“Her eyes are opening.” 

“Give her space, give her space.” The last voice is Tig’s and Leila wonders how much of the MC is crammed into the hospital room. She guesses she should be touched by the crowd, she blinks furiously trying to adjust her eyes to bright light of the room, her body feels heavy. Tig’s face is still hovering over her looking more than a little worried, he probably wants to know what happened to his bike. 

“I’m sorry about your bike,” her voice is weaker than she thought it would be. She sounds like she’s talking through a mouthful of cotton, “I’ll pay to fix it.” Tig’s smile is weak, his eyes are overly bright. He must really be upset to be close to tears over the damn dyna. 

“Oh kitten, it’s okay. Didn’t like that one much anyways. Here, here have water. Gemma, where’s the water?” He turns for a moment and is suddenly back with a bright pink cup and straw, holding it out to her with care. Leila shifts to try and sit but finds her left arm too heavy to move, she glances over with a spinning head and is surprised to find the extremity covered in a purple cast to the elbow. “Is that okay? The purple I mean, they asked me what color and I had no idea. I figured purple would match your hair.” Tig fingers a lock of the multicolored hair he claimed to hate as he talks. Leila feels like she woke up in some kind of alternate reality. Who is this uncertain, concerned man? 

She takes a sip of the offered water, “Yea, it’s okay.”   
  
“I thought I said family only!” Leila can’t see the nurse but she recognizes the voice, it’s the dragon from the front desk. 

“We are family,” Gemma snaps back and Leila takes a moment to survey the room. She can understand the nurse’s frustration, the room is packed. Bobby is standing by the door, Clay has taken over the spare visitors chair, Piney and Ope are standing at the foot of the bed and Leila can just make out Juice posted outside the door. Jax is just behind Gemma and Leila can’t bring herself to meet his eyes. “We probably should clear out for a bit though,” the queen is talking to Tig now, “just let us know if you need anything.” 

Leila watches as her father nods slowly, she stays still and uncertain as he steps away from her bedside. Gemma bends down and kisses her forehead, “Next time just ask and I’ll take the boot off. Stop being a stupid bitch.” Leila just nods into the older woman’s neck. 

Bobby is next, he just stares down at her for a long moment, “Gave us quite a scare baby girl, glad you’re okay.” 

“Feel better Leila,” Ope has never been one for pet names. 

“You’re a fucking idiot.” Piney turns to go with his usual bluntness. 

Clay doesn’t say anything, the president just gives her a long searching look and she can tell he’s trying to figure out how much longer he needs to worry about her distracting his club. She nods, he nods back and with a hand clapped on Jax’s shoulder they both turn to go. She is alone with Tig. Tig whose bike she’d stolen, the bike she’d wrecked. Shit. 

The door closes behind the rest of the club and Leila watches as her father sinks heavily into the chair at her bedside. “I really fucked up big this time huh?” He just scowls but when he meets her eyes Leila is surprised at the lack of real anger there. 

“Fuck Leila you scared me half to death. You disappear, the bike’s gone, and then Jax tells us he yelled some ridiculous bullshit at you. When the hospital called me, fuck, Leila I thought I was going to have identify a body.” Tig is clutching at her right hand and Leila’s not sure what to say. “What did Jax say to you? He wouldn’t tell anyone, just said you fought.” 

“He just told me some truths I should have already known.” She doesn’t want to reveal the real nature of their fight. She feels like saying the words out loud again will only make it hurt that much more. 

“Nope, we’re not doing this again Leila,” Tig’s voice is stern and she wonders where he learned to sound like a dad, “you and me, we’re going to talk about shit. I want to know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours. I’m tired of guessing how much I’ve screwed up. I want to know.” Well that’s certainly a new development. 

“Fine,” she can’t help but sound like a petulant child, “Jax said I needed to step up and take responsibility for my part in starting this Mayan shit. He said I fucked you up when I left, and I was the bastard,” her voice breaks here and she hates herself for the show of weakness, “the bastard child of a croweater and I should stop pretending anyone wanted me around anyways.” 

“Christ Leila, I’m going to kill him. I’m just going to wring his scrawny princeling neck. Both your necks. None of that’s true kitten, none of it.” Tig’s voice is murderous and Leila is openly sobbing, “Do you understand me girl, not a word of it.” 

“But I, I did step out with Jorge and you, you never did want me. You know you didn’t. You emancipated me the minute you had to be responsible, and I ran, I left. I really didn’t care, I didn’t care what happened here in Charming I just wanted to get away.” She sobs through the entire little speech and by the time she’s done Tig has climbed onto the narrow hospital bed pulling her into his arms. She takes the comfort without question, burying her face in his leather covered chest and she has forgotten how well he can hug, how comforting his familiar smell is. He holds her tight, rocking them both in time to her ongoing sobs. 

“Oh baby girl,” he’s whispering the words into her hair and his own voice sounds broken, “I’ve fucked you up bad haven’t I?” His killer’s hands continue to rub comforting circles on her back until the sobs subside and she’s just sniffling into his chest. 

“I got snot on your kutte.” She pulls back to offer him a teary smile and he laughs just a little. 

His face goes serious and he frames her face with his hands, “Listen to me kitten, you didn’t start the Mayan war, what happened to you was, well I don’t know what it was but it wasn’t the beginning. When you yelled at me in the hospital the other day you were right I should have been there for you but I was out killing the old Mayan president in retaliation. That’s what started this war, I went out with Clay and Bobby and we tracked down Jorge’s father and we cut him to fucking pieces.” She forces herself to maintain eye contact while Tig finishes his whispered confession but at the last part her eyes slam closed. 

“Jesus, Tig.” 

“Leila, I’m never going to be the father you want but this, this was the one thing I could do for you. I’ve failed in so many ways with you and I’ve got no idea how make any of it right but I want to try.” 

“What about the emancipation paperwork?” 

“Ah, that was me having no idea what to do with a 16 year old. I thought you’d think it was cool, I wanted to be the cool dad. I mean what 16 year old doesn’t want to be completely free of parental control.” He’s got a point there, but she can’t help but still feel a bit abandoned. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to take care of you Leila, it’s just you were always so put together. The most serious little kid I’ve ever met. I mean thanks to Bobby you could recite tax code at seven, you were helping me wash blood off my rings at nine, christ, you were an accessory to murder at four. All of that was my fault and I thought it’d be best to give you some space, freedom from me and the club. I was serious when I said I never wanted any of this for you.” 

Leila throws herself back against the pillows, it’s like her whole childhood has just been retold in a new light. She has no idea what to do with all these revelations but she knows they’re going to change things. Maybe for the better. “I love you kitten, I really do. You may not have been planned but when you were handed to me that first time planning was the last thing on my mind. I hope you know that.” Tig is pulling himself up off the bed and Leila can’t help but notice how old he looks, he’s never looked anything but robust before.

“I love you too daddy, it’s just going to take some time, yea?” He nods but doesn’t say anything else, Leila doubts there’s anything left to say. They’re a disaster and for all that Tig was an unconventional father she’d never hated her childhood, not really. The door closes on Tig’s back and Leila slumps down in the bed burying her face in her hands. What had she done to herself, to everyone? Over the last few days she’d let herself spiral into a world of self-centered hate. Sure the club had screwed her over but she’d been so focused on blaming everyone else she’d been a bitch. 

“Hey,” she is brought out of her pity party by Chibs’ voice, “I hope it’s okay, Tig snuck me in on his way out.” The Scot stands at the end of the bed shuffling from foot to foot. He looks like shit, messy helmet hair sticking out in all directions, sunglasses pushed up on his forehead to reveal tired eyes. It breaks her heart. Oh, Chibs. Leila doesn’t know yet how she really feels about the boxer but she certainly hadn’t been giving it much thought when she was sleeping in his bed, kissing him, fucking him against a wall. The fact that he’s not angry over her latest fuck up only makes things worse. 

“I’m sorry,” she doesn’t know what else to say. He nods. 

“Yeh in any pain?” His eyes are trained on the purple cast. 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” She lets out a little gasp at his callous answer but before the anger and hurt has time to settle he’s talking again, “yeh have to stop this Leila. All this self destructive shit yeh’ve been doing it’s not going to fly in the long run.” In the long run? Is there a long run for them? Leila can feel a whole new wave of frustrated tears coming on. 

“I know.” 

“Yeh gonna stop? Let us, let me take care of things for a bit?” 

“Yea.” This seems to have been the right thing to say because the Scot starts towards the edge of the bed and before Leila can protest he’s climbing in, taking the spot recently vacated by Tig. She welcomes his warmth and curls herself around him, half on his chest. “I’m so sorry.” 

“I heard yeh the first time darlin’. I know yer sorry.” His fingers tangle in her hair and he presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I just wanna take care of you Leila-Luv, yer just so damned stubborn I’m not sure how to go about it.” 

“No one’s ever really taken care of me.” 

“Aye, I know.” His eyes are so warm and soft, Leila is desperate to believe every word he’s saying. 

“So what are we then?” She can’t help the question. She’s never had a boyfriend but she feels like two angry kisses and a few life or death experiences aren’t the best way to start any relationship. “I thought you said we couldn’t do anything if I still planned on leaving?” She’s desperate to know what all this means to him, what he wants from her. She may not know what she wants long term but she does want him, she wants him to want her too. 

“Aye, I stand by that, but for now we’ll not worry about it. Besides, with your track record as soon as these gun charges clear there’ll be more.” She groans into his chest, he’s right about that. So far she’s done a pretty good job of sabotaging her own escape attempts. “Go to sleep darlin’ I’ll still be here when yeh wake up.” As though to prove his words he shifts trying to get more comfortable on the narrow bed and she settles in on his chest for the long haul. 

“Promise?” 

“Cross my heart.” 

It doesn’t take long for her to drift off to sleep, the rhythm of his heartbeat sounds like safety. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a 2 part update.

It’s been four days since the accident and Chibs has her spread over his body like a human blanket. Leila traces the scars on his face, the right one slicing up and across his cheek, stretching towards his ear, the left one sliding down and into the skin of his throat. She’d been released from the hospital on day two, she’d gotten back to the clubhouse, stripped naked, crawled into his bed, and hadn’t left since. Today is Christmas Eve and she and Chibs are resting in between rounds three and four or five and six, Leila’s lost count of the number of times or ways the Scottish biker has had her. 

He’s been still under her, allowing the examination of his face. But he shifts now, his smile remains indulgent as he reaches for the joint on the bedside table. She watches the way his face thins on the inhale and then one large hand is tangling in her hair, he pulls her face down to his and exhales the hit into her mouth. She rolls off him to land on her back as she exhales. 

Leila feels limp and sticky in all the right ways and she can tell from the way Chibs’ hand is tracing slowly down her chest he’s almost geared up for the next go. One finger traces a slow circle around her nipple and she arches off the bed and into his touch. She has never been this needy in bed before but she has never had a man touch her like this. Chibs is rough and soft at the same time; he’ll pull her hair or grip her hips with painful force only to turn around and whisper sweetly in her ear or press soft kisses to her throat. She feels like a lost cause. 

“It’s Christmas Eve.” He rolls over to look at her when he speaks and she knows he’s trying to be gentle about bringing up the family party again. The last time they’d talked about it Leila had gotten so riled up she’d started packing again, she felt like she could never face SAMCRO again. That had led to a shouting match about always running away and then he’d bent her over his dresser even as her hands were trying to shove clothes into the suitcase, and he’d taken her, hard. By the end of it Leila had been one big nerve, begging him for more. She is not delusional, she knows that hiding in his room is just another form of running but it seems to be one the Soct is agreeable to. Leila really can’t fault the man for that. 

“I’m not going to that…oh,” her words are cut off by a gasp as he rolls a nipple between his fingers and she hates his knowing chuckle. 

“Yeh’ll go.” He’s on his side now and even as one hand continues its work on her breast, his other drifts down between her legs where she has been a wet mess for the last two days. “Yeh’ll like it too.” He punctuates his words with a bite to her breast. His fingers slide through her slick velvet heat and she knows in ten minutes she’ll be agreeing to anything he wants. 

“Will I? Are you so sure of yourself?” Might as well attempt to sound strong. There’s no point in letting the Scot know just how short her leash is. 

“Aye,” two fingers slide up into her willing body at the words and Leila is more than happy to ignore this argument if it means his rough mechanics hands keep working her that way. 

“So are you going to keep manipulating me or are you going to get over here and finish the job.” She cuts her eyes sideways at him and immediately regrets it. The smug look on his face almost ruins the moment, but then his fingers curl inside her and another finds her clit and there’s nothing to do but cry out and surge up into his hand. 

“I think,” she’s barely managing the words at this point, his mouth is latched onto her left breast and his fingers are doing incredible, incredible things down below. “I think, you’re just trying to make sure Gemma gets to have her-” another long pause and Leila can already feel the orgasm coming towards her, “have her — get her chance to yell at me. How much did she pay you?” 

He laughs, his fingers sliding free and she shivers when he puts them to his mouth, sucking harshly. “I think yer being a bit juvenile about this whole situation and a Christmas dinner would do yeh good. Yeh too thin.” His words barely register, he’s left her on the brink and she’s panting for him now. She reaches down under the sheets gripping his hard length. 

“Please.” She knows how pathetic she looks begging for his cock like this, her eyes wide and wild, but her whole body is aching for him. The word is all it takes and he growls as he pulls her bodily onto his chest. Chibs likes it when she begs. His hands are strong as he guides her into the right position and theres’s an awkward moment as Leila struggles to find a safe place for her cast but then, without warning, his hips snap up and she’s full. 

Chibs buries himself in her balls deep and try as she might to sit up and ride him he’s got her trapped against his chest. One hand is tight on her ass, the other slung across her back and tangled in her hair. He pulls her down for a kiss and she sinks into him like butter. Surely there is nowhere better than this. She has no choice but to let him set the pace, so she kisses him back with everything she has even as he’s moving his hips up and down in the most infuriating way. 

Leila can still feel her elusive orgasm on the peripheral and she squirms against him harder, hating the way she can feel his smile against her lips. She buries her hands in his messy hair and pulls, hard. He groans up into her mouth but it gets her nowhere faster. 

“Please,” she breaks the kiss and gasps the word into his ear, letting her teeth trail over the lobe, “please Chibs, please, please, please.” It’s a mantra Leila is more than willing to chant. She is rewarded with an almost whine from the back of his throat and he pushes her body up so she’s astride his hips. 

“Please what darlin?” He’s not moving at all now and Leila smiles down at him, she feels like the cat that got the cream. 

“Please fuck me.” The words barely leave her mouth before he’s tugging at her, forcing them over and she’s on her back in a minute. His body sinks even deeper into hers and Leila lets herself drift to the place where there are no real words just skin on skin and pleasure. She wraps her legs around his waist, leaving her useless left arm to languish at her side as she grips his shoulder with her right hand. He’s got his hands near her face, propping himself up on his forearms and Leila knows he’s having trouble controlling the instinct to grip her road rash covered thighs. 

His head is buried in her neck and he’s breathing hard against her. Leila arches up into him as best she can just trying to hold on as he fills her over and over again, his hips pushing her further into the mattress as they continue their building rhythm. She is literally panting in need. Reaching down between them she tries to hurry things along but he bats her hand out of the way and his gruff “no” brooks no argument. Instead, he shifts his hips just a bit and while the depth of each thrust is weakened she can feel his pelvic bone start to tap against her clit. 

It doesn’t take long after that for Leila to find release, her body arching up into him, his name falling from her lips. The clenching of her inner walls seems to give him some kind of permission because even as she is riding out her own pleasure she feels him shift above her and his thrusts become faster, more erratic, deeper. She’s making some sort of low keening noise as he pounds her into the bed and when he comes with words so garbled by his accent she can’t understand them she feels a bit triumphant. 

They lay still for a long moment. “Yeh’re going to be the death of me little girl.” The words are muttered into her neck and he must not mean them because one of his hands is already trailing down her side to start round six, or was it seven. 

“I’m just trying to build your stamina, you know with the boxing and all, at 28 you really need to be careful not to get out of shape.” He rolls them over with a laugh. 

“So I’m old now am I? Well at least I got yeh to agree to go to Christmas dinner.” He’s got an unfamiliar look in his eyes and he’s trailing a soft hand down her cheek. “Such a bonny lass.” 

She rolls her eyes, “I never said I’d go to dinner.” He seems to think on that for a long moment and she watches recognition dawn on his face. 

“Yeh cheeky bitch.” She pulls herself off him with a laugh, sliding to her feet at the edge of the bed. 

“I will go to diner though, if you help me wash my hair…” She holds up the cast as proof that she actually needs the help but the Scot is already smiling in a feral way. 

“I’m sure, yeh sneaky muppet, get in there,” She laughs as his hand slaps down on her ass and lets him chase her into the attached bath. She’s going to go to the dinner, but first she’s going to make sure she and the Scot have a very dirty reason for being late. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of a 2 part update

  
Gemma’s Christmas Eve dinner is in full swing when Leila and Chibs arrive. Leila made an argument for arriving separately, an attempt to spare Tig the sight of them together, but the Scot shot her down almost instantly citing the need for protection. She had a feeling he just wanted her on the back of his bike. 

She is barely through the door when Tig pulls her into a tight hug, his breath already smells like alcohol and Leila has no doubt he’s been drinking heavily from Gemma’s famous eggnog. 

“Hey kitten, I see you brought in the trash,” Tig’s voice is bright but Leila has no doubt he’s sending Chibs a dark stare over her shoulder. The sergeant at arms suffered a moment of paternal clarity upon her release from the hospital which erupted into a fight over Leila’s decision to go back to the clubhouse with the Chibs. 

“Leave her alone Tigger, the girl’s had a stressful few weeks. Let her have some fun.” Gemma is there as soon as Tig releases her and Leila steps into her waiting arms for a hug. 

“She doesn’t want fun, I offered to take her bowling and she turned me down. She wants to fuck that mangy Scot and it’s disgusting.” Tig had indeed offered to take her bowling and the idea of Tig doing something so mundane was intriguing but the restrictions of her broken arm won out. 

Gemma scoffs, “Tig you at a bowling alley would be equivalent to me throwing a tupperware party.” Her father doesn’t get the joke but Leila laughs. “Come on baby, let’s get you a drink,” Leila allows the SAMCRO queen to lead her out of the foyer but not before she hears Tig start in on Chibs with a quiet, “I don’t know why she’d rather be in bed with you instead of doing something fun with me but if it happens again I’ll slit your throat.” The Scot’s loud laugh trails them into the living room. 

Ten minutes later finds Leila perched on Bobby’s knee, eggnog in hand, while the old biker regales a bald and very tattooed Tacoma brother with a story from her childhood. Thankfully the dead hooker incident hasn’t come up yet but Leila has no doubt it’s on the list. Clay, Ope, and Juice are spread out on the sofa in front of the TV and Leila can’t help but smile at Piney who is settled across the room with his baby granddaughter on his knee. The house is packed, not only with the members of SAMCRO but also with visiting Nomads and out of state brothers, and Leila feels warm and content in a way she hasn’t known for years. This is what family is supposed to feel like. 

The only missing piece is Jax, her sometimes big brother hasn’t made an appearance since right after the accident and as Leila scans the room she is surprised to not see his shaggy blonde head. She pulls herself off Bobby, ignoring his protests, and heads towards the kitchen, trailing a hand through Chibs’ hair as she passes. 

Gemma is cutting up carrots at the counter, several women Leila doesn’t remember are helping with the rest of the coming meal. 

“Where’s Jax?” Gemma glances up from the cutting board for a moment and Leila doesn’t like the look in her eyes. Manipulative. 

“He’s out back finishing the lights. Actually, I have something I need you to take out to him.” Of course you do Leila thinks but there’s no point in protesting now, she’d started this conversation and she might as well see it to the end. 

“Yea, sure.” Leila waits patiently while Gemma dries her hands and wanders off to collect whatever useless thing Jax needs. 

“He’ll need this to do the bushes on the side.” Gemma holds out the extension cord looking smug, “Be nice, he blames himself.” He shouldn’t. 

“Got it.” 

* * *

Jax isn’t stringing up lights when Leila steps out on to the back patio, instead he’s spread out on the wrought iron bench smoking a cigarette, he’s obviously brooding. 

“Hey,” just looking at him makes Leila nervous, he may have been harsh during their fight in front of the clubhouse but he’d also been right about a lot of things and she’s finally ready to admit it. “Your mom wanted me to bring you this.” She holds out the extension cord like a pathetic imitation of peace offering and waits to see what will happen next. 

His blue eyes scan her face and he scoffs, “Crazy bitch knows I’m not actually working on the lights.” He doesn’t move to take the cord from her and Leila thinks maybe that’s the end of the conversation but then he sits up, moving so she can sink down next to him. 

They sit in silence for a moment and Leila has no idea what to say. The last few days of hiding away with Chibs have made the fight, the accident, everything seem like a bad dream and now she’s not sure how to re-craft the reality. She starts with the only thing she can think of, “I’m sorry.” 

He leans forward, putting his elbows on his knees and exhales hard, “you don’t really have anything to apologize to me for, was Tig’s bike you wrecked and he’s already ordered a new one. Thrilled with the insurance money actually. You’re lucky you were only going forty-five, could have been a lot worse.” Had she only been going forty-five? It’d felt like a hundred to her but this is not the direction Leila wants the conversation to take. 

“I don’t mean for that. I mean for you know being selfish and well having a death wish. You were right about those things, I’ve just been feeling sorry for myself for so long, I don’t think I know any other way to be. I won’t apologize for leaving three years ago Jax but I’m sorry for how I’ve been since I’ve been back.” She is proud of this statement and refuses to downplay the effort it took to make. The club had definitely fucked her over but she certainly hadn’t had the most mature reactions to recent events. Her inability to actually deal had been a topic of late night conversation with Chibs several times over the last few days and Leila was starting to see the Scot as a calming force in the chaos of the last two weeks. It was terrifying. 

“Yea, me too. I mean I’m sorry too, for how I’ve been since the thing at the strip club. I shouldn’t have said any of that to you the other night.” He’s staring up at the sky and Leila wishes she could see his eyes but she knows how hard it must be for Jax to admit he was wrong. “You scared all of us you know, it was almost as bad as the drive by. Tig was a disaster when the hospital called, he actually agreed to ride over there bitch with Piney.” Leila can’t help her laugh at the idea of Tig riding on the back of Piney’s trike and the ease of the moment allows her to settle in Jax’s side. He slides an arm around her shoulders, “You’ll always be my favorite fake sister you know.” His smile is genuine when he turns to look at her and Leila feels a weight lift off her shoulders. 

“I know, you’ll always be the dumbest brother I have.” He makes an indignant noise in the back of his throat her words but his smile remains in place and Leila drops her head onto his arm. “So how mad is Tig that I’m fucking Chibs?” 

Jax’s laugh is loud, “Are you really?” He turns to catch her nod, “well damn I didn’t see that coming but I’m going to assume Tigger is furious. It would explain why I caught him using a Scottish flag for target practice out here yesterday afternoon.” 

Leila lets out a soft gasp, “He wasn’t,” but Jax’s smile is getting wider and he nods at her conspiratorially. 

“He kept muttering about stealing innocence…” It’s too much for Leila and she giggles into Jax’s side at the mental image and the idea that there was any innocence left to steal. Jax is shaking in his own laughter beside her and Leila realizes even with everything the world cannot possibly get any better than this. 

The knock at the window startles both of them and Gemma’s got her serious face on as she motions them inside. 

“Out front now! Not you,” the queen tries to catch Leila’s arm but she ignores the older woman and follows Jax through the house. The living room is now empty of bikers and Leila feels her heart kick up a beat as she realizes there can be nothing good going on outside. 

* * *

It’s like a good old fashioned western show down on the front steps of the suburban home. SAMCRO is ranged in a messy line in the front of the house and across from them are five Mayans. Jax immediately heads for Clay, the president is talking quietly in the middle of the yard with a dark haired hispanic man and Leila recognizes him as Marcus Alvarez from Juice’s recent research. She slides into place between Chibs and Tig and shoots the Scot an apologetic glance as her father slides an oddly protective arm around her shoulders. 

“What’s going on?” The softly whispered question gets her no answers as Tig only tightens his grip and attempts to push her behind him. It must be bad then. Jax has reached the central huddle and Leila watches as he and Alvarez cautiously shake hands, if the body language is anything to go on whatever truce Opie managed to barter must be tenuous at best. Leila can feel her nerves kicking in and when all three men in the middle of the yard glance in her direction it makes her physically sick with fear. She doesn’t fight when Tig forces her the rest of the way behind him. 

The whole event is suddenly proven woefully anti-climatic as Clay and Alvarez seem to reach some sort of agreement and then the Mayans are moving back towards their bikes. They’ve barely cranked the engines when there is movement from the rest of SAMCRO, Leila starts forward with the rest but is stopped by Tig’s hand and a not too kind “Stay here,” from Chibs. 

“What happened?” Gemma’s voice sounds from behind her and Leila is suddenly aware that there is probably a full dinner on the table waiting for them. She stands next to the other woman and waits while the men congregate in the middle of the yard. They are whispering and for a moment voices are raised, Leila feels wholly useless. Tig is the first to break away from the group and Leila can tell from the set of his face the news is not going to be good. He marches towards the house with a murderous gait. 

“Sorry mama,” he’s talking to Gemma but his hand is already wrapped tight around Leila’s good arm, “I need to take my daughter home.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and he’s stronger than Leila remembers as he pulls her across the lawn and towards his loaner bike. 

“What the fuck, Tig let go. What are you…” Leila struggles against him, she glances back towards the house and catches sight of Chibs talking furiously to Jax, the younger man just nodding in agreement. “Daddy, what’s happened.” The pleading note in her voice must have done the trick because Tig suddenly stops at the curb and releases her arm. 

“Alvarez came up with a plan to get us access to Jorge.” Her father’s voice is dark and his shoulders are set in a way that Leila knows from experience is a warning sign for inevitable violence. 

“That’s good though? We can finish this?” She tries hard to remain hopeful in the face of his obvious upset. 

“Yes, it would be but it involves bait and I’m not doing it again.” He’s looking over her shoulder now and Leila just knows his eyes are focused on Clay. 

“They want you to be bait?” Her mind is muddled with misunderstanding, she knows there’s a vital piece of the puzzle that should be obvious but she just can’t seem to make everything fit together. 

“No baby girl,” Tig’s bright blue eyes slide back to her face and everything slams together with the force of a wrecking ball, “they want to use you.” 


	18. Chapter 18

It is Christmas and Leila is curled up on Chibs’ bed like a cat, watching as the Scot drifts around the room, shirtless, getting ready for the night. The celebrations Gemma had had planned for the holiday have all been pushed aside in light of the new Mayan development and Leila is still weary from the events of the previous evening. 

After Tig made his revelation about the plan Clay had agreed to, they’d ended up staying for dinner although not the happy holiday dinner they’d expected. Gemma sent all the croweaters and family home and the men spent hours around the table discussing the merits of Alvarez’s offer. It was close to one a.m. When Leila finally managed to pull her head off the table and agree to participate if they needed her. This declaration just brought up a whole new round of debate but by then she’d been too tired to care. 

Really she was tired of everything, she was tired of the blood, the anger, of feeling helpless. If this is what it took to finally end the whole mess she was more than willing to offer herself up as the fatted calf. Deep down, in a part of her that she would never be able to verbalize, Leila wanted to be there, she wanted to be the one to kill him. She may claim to hate the retaliation style justice of the club but she had to admit there was some basic human instinct that would be satisfied by putting a bullet in the brain of the man that took so much from her. 

Somewhere around four a.m., the vote passed. SAMCRO would be attacking the Mayans on Christmas night and Leila would be their bait. When they’d finally started to head back to the clubhouse Tig had hugged her hard but hadn’t objected when she got on the back of Chibs’ bike. Leila felt like he was offering her one last night of peace, her father’s eyes had held nothing but pity for her and she refused to take it. So now, after sleeping most of the day, Leila was watching as the Scot armed himself. 

She watches as he pulls the bullet proof vest over his bare chest and she climbs out of the bed, already fully dressed, to help. Her small hands make short work of the velcro fastenings and it’s not long before she finds herself standing in front of Chibs, staring up at his warm brown eyes with no idea what to say next. 

“I’ve got something for yeh.” His eyes are soft and Leila can’t name what she sees in them but she doesn’t protest as he moves around her to dig into the bottom drawer of his dresser. He comes back to stand before her, a small velvet bag in hand. “I found this and thought of yeh, I wasn’t going to give it to yeh just yet but with today…” He trails off and Leila knows the end of that sentence is ‘we both might die.’ 

She tries to smile encouragingly as she takes the small pouch from him, silently undoing the ribbons and dumping the contents out into her hand. She stares down in mild shock at the charm attached to a solid silver chain. “I dunno, I guess I wanted to claim you just a bit.” He shifts nervously and when she glances up at his face his eyes are full of anxiety. 

She fingers the small enamel crow in her hand, a bunched Scottish flag clutched in its claws and smiles. “It’s beautiful Chibs, no one’s ever given me jewelry before. Help me put it on.” His smile when she turns around to let him hang the identifying mark around her neck is blinding. She feels his fingers clumsy at her neck as he hooks the clasp and then the necklace settles into place with a heavy finality. She is owned. It feels good. “Thank you,” she turns back around and stands on her toes to press a soft kiss to his still smiling lips. 

“Yer welcome Leila-Luv. Now, let’s get yeh sorted.” She stands still while he helps her put on her own bullet proof vest and she takes the gun he offers, checking the safety, she fits it neatly into the holster at her back. “Ready,” he breathes the word into her neck and arousal and anxiety pool in her stomach. 

“As I’ll ever be.” She whispers back. 

* * *

The men of the MC are draped across every piece of furniture in the clubhouse’s main room and Leila can’t help but be impressed. Every one is dressed for war and with the slow trickle of nomads and out of staters over the last few days they are an army tonight. Tig gives her a once over from his perch at the bar, he looks resigned to the plan for the evening. Considering everything Leila can’t say she’s surprised but she is mildly impressed that he’s taking his promise to be a better father seriously. 

Clay steps up to her and Leila feels Chibs put a steadying hand on her shoulder, the MC president still makes her a bit jumpy. 

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Clay’s cold eyes search her face and she nods. There’s no turning back now, she wants this mess to be over. 

“Yes,” she tries to sound confident but the words come out as a whisper. 

“We all really appreciate what you’re doing for us here Leila,” Clay’s voice is oddly sincere and Leila is so unnerved she doesn’t fight as he pulls her into a tight hug, “I’m sorry it has to be this way baby girl.” For a moment she thinks he means her playing bait but then she feels him shift and stiffen against her. Leila attempts to pull away and look him in the eye but he’s holding her tight. The butt of the gun comes down on the back of her head with a sickening crack and the last thing she sees before the world fades to black is Tig’s concerned face.

* * *

When Leila comes to it is fully dark outside and she’s laid out on the clubhouse sofa. Turning her head to the side she lets out a small moan at the movement and for a moment the room spins dangerously. When the world finally comes back into focus it is to the sight of Gemma leaning against the pool table, her favorite little Baretta in one hand. 

“They left me to stand guard,” the MC queen sounds utterly bored at the task and Leila can do nothing but look at her with questioning eyes. “Don’t look so surprised, Tig’s grown a small conscience over the last few days and you’ve got Chibs so wrapped around your finger I’m surprised he didn’t just go ahead and hang his cock on that chain around your neck. They weren’t going to put you in harm’s way again.” 

Leila stays quiet for a long moment letting this newest development sink into her still recovering brain. 

“But they need me. I’m the draw for the whole plan.” 

“Yea,” Gemma sounds annoyed, “plans change. Look I’m just as pissed with the lot of them as you are. They’ve been playing games since the day you got back here and I think it’s time you get what you’re owed.” Gemma’s eyes meet Leila’s and the older woman holds her gaze, “If it were me I wouldn’t be satisfied until I was the one to put a bullet in that bastard’s brain but you’re not me so I don’t know what you want me to do here.” 

The implication of the words comes through slowly and Leila feels her heart jump at the unspoken offer being made. It only takes seconds for Leila to make up her mind, “I want to kill him.” 

Gemma nods and she looks overly pleased with the decision, “I always knew we raised you right. They’re meeting him off the Bluebird property, just in the woods, that clearing, you know the place?” Leila nods, she knows the place well and she can certainly understand why it makes sense for the meet. The original plan called for Leila to be handed off to Jorge by Tig and Clay, her life in exchange for peace. The Son’s had planned to set up an ambush apparently now it was nothing but ambush. 

“Can I get there in time?” Leila has no idea how long she’s been out and for all she knows they could all already be dead. 

“If you hurry, take the gun,” Gemma holds out the fully loaded Baretta, “and don’t do anything too stupid.” There are no gentle parting words as the older woman pulls Leila into a tight embrace, “GO!” 

* * *

The road to the Bluebird gun warehouse is dark when Leila pulls off the highway, there are no motorcycles in sight as she parks the Chevelle in front of the old wooden building. She sits in the car and considers what she plans to do. The bullet proof vest Chibs strapped on to her hours before feels heavy, the chain and charm around her neck have implications she doesn’t even want to consider and the Baretta carefully placed on the passenger seat glows in the moonlight. There will be no going back from this. Leila gets out of the car. 

The wooded clearing off on the edge of property is well known to her. She’s been there countless times for target practice and she knows that if the MC is planning an ambush they’ll make sure to set themselves up on the high side to the North. If she knows anything about the Mayans they’ll set up on the other side, she moves into the woods from the East. 

It’s not a long walk and she pauses under the tree cover to the East. From her vantage point she can see the lights of four bikes, so she was there in time. She can’t see any of the other men but she knows they’re there, hiding among the trees. She knows the Mayans probably have their own hidden backup. Leila inches forward just enough to make out Clay and Tig standing in the clearing with Jorge and another man she doesn’t know. In the quiet of the night she can just make out their voices. 

“If the girl’s not here there’s no deal.” Jorge is speaking and Leila doesn’t miss the way his dead eyes scan the tree line, his voice is more than angry. 

“She’s here, we just want to make sure you were serious about your offer.” Clay lies with a practiced ease. 

“You going to make trouble?” The unnamed man is looking at Tig as he speaks. Tig shift uncomfortably but shakes his head. 

“No, I know what has to be done.” She feels a burst of warmth towards her father for trying to leave her behind. 

“Then where is she? I want the bitch dead,” the extra man is slowly reaching for a gun and none of the men down below look comfortable with the turn this talk is taking. “Get her now!” The gun is drawn and if she strains Leila can just hear the soft clicks of safeties being removed on the North side of the hills. She checks that the Baretta is carefully shoved down into the front of her loose jeans, the butt tucked up into the vest. It will be undetectable in a pat down but easy to reach. Taking a deep breath she steps out of the trees. 

“I’m here.” Tig’s head snaps around at her voice and she doesn’t miss the obvious panic in his eyes. Clay doesn’t miss a beat. 

“See, here she is now.” Jorge laughs and Leila can still remember when that laugh used to make her stomach clench up in happiness. Things change. 

“It seems daddy didn’t expect you Leila, odd considering our deal. Did you know they traded your life for peace?” Jorge’s cold eyes train on her face and Leila can’t help her shiver. She fears those eyes in her dreams, she refuses to let it show now. It’s like her entire world has narrowed to a pinprick and he’s at the center. She feels a calm spread through her limbs like nothing she’s ever felt before. 

“I know what they offered.” She steps up until she’s standing next to Tig and she tries to send him psychic messages, this will all be okay. It will too, because no matter what happens here tonight someone will die and she plans for it to be Jorge or herself. 

“I always knew you were a good girl.” The Mayan president lunges for her even as Tig draws his gun and they are suddenly in a standoff. Leila doesn’t fight as Jorge settles her against his chest, his arm wrapped around her. She feels the barrel of his gun settle against her temple. “Come out come out boys, I know you’re hiding.” Jorge’s shout echoes across the clearing and Leila can hear soft but definite movement from the North and South. When the battle comes she, Clay and Tig will be directly in the crossfire. Maybe they’ll all die tonight. 

Her fingers itch to reach up and clutch the charm at her neck and she thinks if she strains her eyes she just might be able to make out Chibs’ form on the other side of the trees. 

“Let her go.” Tig’s voice is raspy and Jorge turns them both to look at her father. 

“Oh, so daddy doesn’t like this turn of events,” the Mayan’s voice is cold and teasing, “did you think you’d get away with not bringing the goods? I bet you did but Leila’s always had a mind of her own. Haven’t you baby? Have you missed me? Lucky I gave you something to remember me by.” Jorge’s teeth nip at her ear lobe but she only has eyes for Tig. She silently begs the man who made her to understand what’s happening here, his eyes shift down to her waist and she nods just a bit, barely a movement of her head. She watches as Tig’s eyes drift closed in resignation and then snap back to hers. 

“Okay.” Tig shouts the word and Leila watches as his arm comes up in the signal for the rest of MC. Distantly she hears Clay yell in anger and Jorge laughs at their defeat but she’s too focused to notice the men as they slowly appear on the edge of the tree line. Jorge notices them though and the moment she feels his attention shift from her to them she acts. 

She goes up on her toes and kicks back violently, whipping her head to the side and down out of the range of his gun even as she brings the hard plaster of her cast up and into his face. The shot he fires burns as it flies past her ear, missing flesh by centimeters. She hears the crack of his nose breaking but there’s no time to relish in his pain. Her good hand draws the Baretta and in one smooth motion she puts the muzzle against his bloody head. She is lightning quick, Tig always taught her time is the enemy in any gun fight. She sees the barrel of Jorge’s glock starting to rise again and she pulls the trigger. Jorge is dead before he hits the ground but there’s no time for triumph. 

She spins again just in time to see the unnamed Mayan fall to Tig and ends up back to back with her father as the first gunshot of the larger fight shatters the night. 

“Love you kitten.” Tig’s voice has a laugh in it and Leila knows he’s in his element as she watches him pick off one of the Mayans emerging from the south. 

“Cover fire, now!” Clay is yelling and Leila hears the big guns start to pop as Tig drags her towards the tree line. They are almost there and Leila can make out Chibs’ face in front of her when the round hits her back. She starts to fall as all the air leaves her body from the impact on the vest. Tig’s hand is rough on her arm as he pulls her up. 

“Go, go girl. Get cover, this will be quick.” She doesn’t argue, she’s done what she came to do. So she stumbles the last few feet up the hill, a brother she doesn’t know helps her settle against a tree, still catching her breath, and then she sits back and watches the chaos unfold. 

She remembers going on a picnic to a pretend battle with both her parents once, it was an odd day, having them there together, getting along. Her mom had wanted to go to a museum but Tig’s darker side had insisted they see a Civil War reenactment. The MC fights nothing like the trained soldiers of that day. There is blood everywhere and the patches blur together in her mind until she has trouble telling Son from Mayan. Bodies fall like shell casings but Leila knows most of the Son’s have protective vests on and they keep getting right back up like some kind of twisted biker parody of a zombie movie. 

In retrospect it is only fifteen minutes from Leila’s reveal at the tree line to the last gunshot but it feels like a lifetime. Half the forces Jorge brought with him peel away as soon as he’s dead just like Alvarez promised and the rest are quickly cleaned up by the thirty odd Sons. Leila is just starting to reflect on the fact that she has killed two men in a week when Tig appears before her covered in carnage. He smiles at her wildly and his teeth are stained pink, she knows it’s with someone else’s blood. 

“You mad?” She sounds breathless and she bets her ribs are going to hurt like a bitch in the morning. 

“Of course I am, you’re a stupid bitch. I think you get it from my mother.” She hates that he can’t hide his pride in her killer instincts. “You did good.” 

“Clay going to kill me?” 

“Not tonight.” 

“Take me home daddy.” 

“Yep.” He helps her up and she spares a glance down the clearing where the men of SAMCRO are already in clean up mode. She watches in disgust as the bald Tacoma brother starts up a chain saw with a laugh. “That’s a fucking stupid necklace.” Leila reaches up to hold the Scottish crow and cuts her eyes at her father, some things will never change. 


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 1 of a 2 part update.

Leila leans heavily on Chibs, his arm around her shoulders the only thing keeping the bitingly cold wind at bay. The black dress, borrowed from Gemma, is too long on Leila’s shorter frame and she doesn’t come close to filling out the top the way the older woman does. It has been two days since the fight in the clearing. The calm confidence Leila found in the moments after killing Jorge has faded into a steady grief. Six Mayans died at the Bluebird property including the president but that wasn’t important today. Today they had come together to bury a Son. Michael ‘Mack’ Phillips of the Tacoma chapter had fallen in the woods and the Sons were out in state to lay him to rest. 

The day is appropriately gray and the showing at the grave site is almost majestic. Leila has no trouble appreciating the beauty of the bikers lined up, their kuttes and boots polished. But the sobs of Mack’s old lady are starting to grate and Leila puts more of her weight into the Scot’s side, his arm tightens around her and she feels him press a fleeting kiss to her head. She glances at the grief stricken woman sitting in front of the crowd, Gemma is beside her, trying and failing to calm the widowed old lady. All Leila sees is her future with Chibs if she stays. 

SAMCRO may protect their women and Leila is well aware they’re sweeter to all their ladies than most MC’s but that doesn’t mean there’s any other way to end a biker love story. Gemma’s been at one old man’s gravesite already and with the way Clay schemes Leila has no doubt the SAMCRO matriarch will end up at another. Leila glances up at Chibs’ scarred face, his warm eyes are focused on the minister performing the final prayer and she doesn’t miss how bright they are. Losing a brother is hard no matter how well you knew him. She cares for the Scot, more than she’ll ever be willing to admit, but it only takes one more sob from the widow at the front for Leila to know she’ll never take his crow. She won’t let herself end up like that. Alone is always a better option. Being alone never breaks your heart. 

The funeral is coming to a close and Leila starts towards the line of cars and bikes across the cemetery when she sees him. Mark looks ridiculously out of place with his bright blonde surfer hair and army green jacket among the sea of bikers. His big wave when he spots her cements his outsider quality. 

“Who’s the muppet?” Chibs is still walking beside her and there is something possessive in his eyes when he glances down at her. 

“That’s…” she trails off still not sure she’s seeing right, “that’s my boss. Mark, you know from Utah.” Chibs makes an interested noise in the back of his throat. “I’m going to go talk to him.” She pulls herself out of the Scot’s embrace and starts towards the waiting visitor. 

“If he tries to fire yeh I’ll kill him.” Chibs’ shout is loud enough for half the assembled crowd to hear and Leila sees Mark’s eyes widen in fear even as laughs ring out from many of the Sons. 

“He didn’t mean that right? Who is that?” Mark’s voice squeaks out over the space between them and Leila tries to look reassuring. 

“I don’t think so.” She glances back to Chibs for confirmation only to find he and Tig with their heads together looking more than devious. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. What are you doing here?” 

“You haven’t been answering your phone so I called the emergency number you left. It’s for a car shop by the way, did you know that? Anyways, one of the mechanics told me you’d been in a motorcycle accident and were in the hospital. I thought I should come out and make sure you were okay.” He shifts nervously as he speaks and Leila doesn’t miss the way his eyes never leave the men still talking quietly behind her. “Your arm is broken so I guess you really did get in an accident?” 

“Yea, I did do that, although there’s some other stuff too. I won’t be able to come back to Utah for a bit. Got some charges pending.” Might as well be honest about the whole fucking mess. Mark had already developed an opinion on the club, nothing about this trip was going to change that. 

“Jesus Leila, charges pending?” She’s sure she’s tired of hearing the words Jesus and Leila in the same sentence and her temper’s brewing at his tone. 

“Just some weapons stuff nothing serious.” Murder was certainly serious but it was none of Mark’s business. He may be a good friend but he isn’t SAMCRO and the loyalty lesson had been learned young and well. “How did you know we were here?” 

“There’s a sign up at the garage about it being closed for a funeral. This is the only cemetery for miles around.” She’d forgotten how clever he could be, half the patched brothers she knows wouldn’t have been able to put that connection together. 

“Clever boy. Are you staying in town? I need to get to the wake but we can catch up later.” Leila has no idea what to do about this situation. Seeing her two worlds collide is throwing her off balance and she wants them to separate as soon as possible. 

The only way the situation could possibly get worse is if, “Hey, Mark right?” Tig showed up. Fuck. The blonde’s eyes get huge at the sight of her father and Leila knows when she turns to look at him Tig will have his favorite shit eating grin in place. There’s nothing the killer likes more than unnecessary intimidation. “I don’t think we met properly last time. I’m Leila’s father.” 

“He knows who you are daddy.” She needs Tig to leave as soon as possible, Mark looks ready to piss himself and she knows he’s reliving their first meeting where Tig kicked down her bedroom door mid-colitis. “Shouldn’t you be heading over the wake?” She glances back at Tig hoping he’ll take the hint but he’s too focused on Mark to notice. 

“You’re the one that was fucking my little girl that time I came to visit right?” Christ, she was literally going to kill the man. Mark just stands there mouth opening and closing obviously at a loss. 

“Tig,” she tries to make her voice firm, “you should go.” 

“I’m going, I’m going baby girl,” he presses a kiss to her cheek and she watches, annoyed, as he laughs his way back to Chibs and Bobby. 

“I’m sorry Mark, he just likes to be an ass.” She makes sure to shout the last part and she can hear the men laughing behind her. 

“It’s okay,” Mark’s voice makes it clear he thinks it’s anything but, “it’s just weird seeing you here. With them.” 

“What do you mean?” She tries to catch his eye but he’s still staring at the bikers and old ladies as they slowly drift towards their waiting dynas. 

“I was here for most of the service. I’ve never seen you with them you know? I mean I’ve heard your stories about everything but I don’t know, it’s different seeing you here. You fit.” His bright blue eyes slide back to her face and Leila suddenly feels uncomfortable. 

“Not really.” She doesn’t want to fit in here.

“You dating the big guy or something? He doesn’t look happy we’re talking.” She glances back at Chibs and sure enough he’s leaning against a tree, arms crossed, looking very… intimidating. 

“You still having a baby with Angie?” Their friendship had never been like this before and she wonders how a few weeks can change so much. Mark rubs a hand down his face. 

“Yep, she’s doing really good. She’s not tattooing anymore, she actually really seems to like running the front. It was a good suggestion.” His smile is weak but Leila can see it in his eyes, he’s trying not to look too excited about how well his life is shaping up when she’s standing before him in a black dress with a broken arm. “What happened out here Leila? You were only going to come out for a few days and I mean Christ, you looked pretty comfortable.” She has been shot at four times, she’s killed two men, she’s wrecked a motorcycle; Leila has no idea what happened but she’s certainly not comfortable. 

“I don’t know. I should be able to come back in a week or so.” She searches his face for proof that this will be okay, that she’ll have a place to come back to but he’s looking past her. 

It takes a long moment but Mark finally lets out a loud sigh, “It’ll be good to get you back. I’m staying at the Red Roof outside town off I5 if you need me but I’ll let you get back to your family.” Family, do they look like a family to outsiders? Leila doesn’t think she’ll ever really know but she steps up and pulls her sweet friend into a hug. 

“I’m okay Mark, I really am.” She’s starting to lie as well as Clay. “I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll talk.” He nods into her neck and then releases her. Leila watches him walk towards his hybrid until Chibs comes up behind her, the Scot’s arms slide around her from behind and she relaxes into his now familiar embrace. 

“Yeh doing alright darlin? I was serious you know, if surfer boy there upset yeh I’d be more than happy to slit his little throat.” He punctuates the offer with a wet kiss to the side of her neck and she turns in his embrace sliding her arms up around his neck. 

“I’m fine, he heard about the accident and came out to make sure I was okay. He wants to know when I’ll be heading back to Utah.” The guarded look that had been missing for the last few days comes back to Chibs’ eyes at her words. 

“Oh, aye, and what did yeh tell him?” Leila lets the weight of the question settle over her shoulders even as Chibs reaches up to finger the crow hanging around her neck. 

“I told him I still had charges pending and I don’t know what I’m doing yet. I was honest with him.” Chibs’ fingers slide up her cheek and he uses them to lift her face so she’s looking him in the eye. 

“Alright then. We’re going to be late for the wake.” She wants to say more, she wants to tell him how much the last few days have meant to her, how much she’s starting to care about him. Instead, she lets him lead her to the bike and settles against his back. There’ll be time to talk about what comes next later. 

* * *

The wake is winding down and Leila has been brooding for the last hour. She is settled on the sofa between Tig and Bobby listening to the latter tell more less than innocent stories about her childhood. He had just finished one about the time Gemma caught five year old Leila and seven year old Jax playing ‘show me yours and I’ll show you mine’ behind the garage and the assembled Sons were starting to quiet their laughter. Leila leans her head against Tig’s side and lets her mind wander. 

She’s upset with Mark for coming out to Cali, her boss and friend just acted as a reminder that she had a life away from SAMCRO, a life that wanted her back. It was a life Leila wasn’t sure she wanted anymore. Ten days in Charming and she feels like a different person, or maybe she feels like the person she used to be. She hadn’t realized she missed that girl. She lets her eyes wander the bar, most of the men are starting to verge on drunk and the wives and old ladies are packing up to head home. After they leave the croweaters will arrive and the wake will shift to a whole different type of remembrance. She finds Chibs across the room, the Scot is talking quietly to Jax and drinking a tall whiskey, Leila can tell he’s drunk. He hasn’t said much since the cemetery and she’s gotten the impression he’s not too happy with her. 

“You should go to bed kitten.” Tig’s voice is soft in her ear and he gives her hand a squeeze for comfort. 

“Yea,” she whispers the word and then stands and stretches, “Goodnight boys.” A chorus of returned ‘goodnights,’ and ‘sleep well’s’ follow her through the room. She turns down the narrow back hallway to the dorms and starts for Tig’s door but stops. Her father was on his way to being roaring drunk and he’d no doubt take full advantage of the soon to be arriving pussy, the last thing Leila wants is be woken up by Tig and some slut trying to get it on. She keeps walking until she hits Chibs’ room. She doubts the Scot will mind finding her in his bed. 

She has no idea how long she’s been asleep when the bang of the door wakes her. Old instincts kick in hard and Leila is sitting straight up in the bed, the Baretta in her hand instantly. She almost drops the gun at the sight in the doorway. Chibs is standing, his body silhouetted by the light coming from the hallway, some bitch in a cheap looking halter top wrapped around him from behind. He pushes the other woman away the minute he sees Leila on the bed and his mouth opens to speak but Leila doesn’t give him the chance, she only has eyes for the croweater. 

“Get the fuck out.” She doesn’t raise the gun but she does make sure they can both see it in her hands against the sheets. She does enjoy the way the girls eyes widen just a bit too much. 

“You’re a crazy bitch.” The drunk woman hisses, fleeing on her too high heels. 

“Close the door Chibs.” Leila tosses the gun back onto the nightstand and watches as the Scot kicks the door shut. He’s more than unsteady on his feet and his eyes never leave her face. “So it is hookers in heels you like huh?” Leila repeats her question from their first kiss in the parking lot of Teasers and tries to keep the hurt from her voice. 

“I didn’t know yeh’d be in here darlin.” He is still standing at the foot of the bed watching her warily. She can see the outline of his arousal, brought on by the other woman through his jeans. 

“I didn’t think you’d be planning to fuck anyone else.” She feels stupid for that. 

“I didn’t, fuck her I mean. I figured yeh’d be packing by now, got to get back to yer real life.” The betrayal in his voice is unmistakable and Leila has no idea how to react. 

“What do you want from me Chibs? You want me to stay here? Be your Old Lady? Shoot more people for the club?” 

“No,” He’s watching her like she’s a wild animal, “I guess I just want yeh.” 

“Yea, alright.” She knows he’s lying and she has no idea what she wants but she doesn’t protest when he moves suddenly, crawling up the bed to her. Leila is forced back on the pillows when he settles over her on all fours and he smells like booze, smoke, and cheap perfume. 

“I’ll take what I can get Leila-Luv.” His voice is rough and she refuses to meet his eyes, staring instead at the glinting knife handles holstered to his chest. He growls low in his throat and one hand comes up to tangle violently in her hair, he pulls her head back with painful force until she meets his eyes. They’re dark with arousal and bright with the underlying emotion of the moment, they’re beautiful. 

When he finally kisses her, the gentleness of his lips acts as a stark contrast to the intensity of the previous moment and Leila sinks into him without question. Kissing Chibs is usually a battle of tongues, lips, and teeth but tonight he takes his time exploring her mouth and as the hand in her hair loosens Leila feels a slow desperate need start to pool in her stomach. 

He uses her hair to guide her up, pulling her with him until she’s sitting again and he’s on his knees. His free hand tugs at her tank top and she breaks the kiss so he can pull it off. She feels oddly exposed as she crashes back down to bed in just her underwear while the fully dressed biker above her finds a nipple with his mouth. One hand trails along her neck leaving fire in it’s wake while the other drifts to her abandoned breast, tugging at her piercing. Leila arches up into him with a soft moan and the feel of his denim and leather against her bare skin is so erotic she knows she’ll soak through her flimsy boyshorts in seconds. 

Chibs seems to be intent on controlling the action this evening and Leila is more than happy to lay back against the bed and let him have his way. His hands are everywhere, sliding across her flushed skin, his lips following in their wake. He doesn’t protest when she digs her nails into his scalp, pulling at his shaggy hair but if she even attempts to remove his kutte he pushes her away. He’s talking softly into her flesh but she has no idea what he’s saying or even if it’s english and the words serve no purpose beyond letting her hear his deep, rolling brogue. His tongue swirls over the scar on her hip and she arches up into him, grinding her need against his chest. 

He laughs at her desperation and his hands push her hips back down to the bed before pulling off the damp scrap of cloth masquerading as panties. Leila doesn’t have time to anticipate his next move before his mouth is on her, his shaggy head buried between her thighs while his tongue does amazing, amazing things. She spares a passing thought for the fact that his wonderful mouth may have just been on a croweater’s lips but then he’s pushing two fingers up into her aching body and she just gives in. His tongue is undulating against her clit even as his fingers pump into her and he’s still talking, or moaning, and the vibrations of his deep voice are going a long way towards pushing her over the edge. She tugs at his hair and tries to force herself off the bed to get more contact but he holds her down with a rough hand on one thigh. 

She keeps her eyes trained on his moving head and is rewarded when he glances up from between her legs. His eyes are dark and untamed. Leila is a panting mess when the beginnings of her orgasm start to hit and from somewhere far away she hears her own voice moan out his name even as she arches up off the bed with force, her thighs clamping tight around his ears. He rides the whole thing out with her even as she momentarily loses her mind to the waves of pleasure crashing through her body. 

She’s barely regained coherent thought when his lips find hers and she can taste herself on his tongue. The kiss is soft and Leila can feel his still wet fingers tracing patterns down her sides. She wants him now, she wants him to fill her and make her beg. She doesn’t voice the thought but he seems to know what she needs because with nothing more than a quick glance at her face he’s off her. He pulls himself off the bed and Leila watches in unabashed appreciation as he disrobes quickly, throwing clothes around the already messy room. He must be impatient too because he doesn’t bother to remove his boots and he crawls back onto the bed bare chested with his pants tangled around his ankles. 

He gives no warning the first time he slides home, one big hand just throws her leg over his hip and then he’s buried in her. Leila cries out in surprise and pleasure, her nails leaving tracks down his muscled back. For a moment she thinks she’s going to get the hard fuck she wants but he starts slow, his body moving above hers in long evenly paced strokes that make her needy. Her already over sensitive clit is getting tapped in time by his pelvic bone and every time she tries to force him to pick up the pace he pulls back, he is slowly burning her alive from the inside out. 

She’s talking into his neck, a random litany of “please” and “oh God Chibs” falling into his skin and she can already feel her second orgasm coiling in her stomach. He is literally worshipping her body with his slow thrusts and gentle hands. His fingers tweak at a nipple even as his mouth trails heat down her neck and onto her chest. 

“Open yer eyes.” She hadn’t even realized they were closed but she lets them drift open and finds herself level with his face. His eyes are still dark with arousal but there’s something else there she can’t name. He trails the back of a hand down her face and his steady pace never falters. They’re connected in the most intimate of ways and Leila can’t help but feel a wellspring of emotion slowly bloom in her chest. He has her mesmerized and she feels helpless beneath him. “Good lass.” His voice is husky with emotion or pleasure she’s not sure. 

Her second orgasm is a slow build but when it comes it fills her whole body. She can feel her fingers and toes tense up, her nails bite into his shoulders and he never stops moving above her. She can feel every inch of him buried inside her as she clenches uncontrollably around his length. The ebb and flow of her pleasure eventually brings Chibs over the edge, his hips snapping a few more times as he moans out his release against her ear. She feels his body pulsing inside hers as he goes still, riding it out. 

He rolls them, still connected, until she is on top, settled on his chest. She can feel his softening cock start to slide out of her and she buries her face in the crook of his neck. 

“Go ta sleep my love,” His voice is soft and drowsy and in the afterglow and Leila decides to ignore this newest pet name. She slides off his chest settling herself against his side, her head still on his shoulder and tries to pretend he didn’t just make love to her while she was saying goodbye. 


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of a 2 part update.

The weapons charges had been dropped, the Chevelle was packed, and Mark was expecting her back in Salt Lake on Monday but Leila can’t bring herself to move. It’s been three days since the funeral and she is spread out on the ground in front of her mother’s headstone. If she sits up straight and stretches to the right she can just see Mack’s still fresh grave. Two hours ago it had seemed fitting to come to the cemetery and reflect on the death and pain of the last few weeks in Charming but now Leila just feels restless. She’s still torn between trying to go back to her old life in Salt Lake and staying. 

She’d had a sit down with Mark the day after the funeral. They’d had a good talk at the small diner in town. Leila had attempted to explain the drama of her visit and Mark had tried to make it sound like nothing would be different when, if, she went back to Utah. They’d ended on a friendly but undecided note and with a warm hug Mark had left Charming to get back to his pregnant girlfriend and the shop. 

She and Tig had also had a a sit down over the last few days. It had been a good talk, there’d been yelling, but there had also been understanding and Leila felt like she’d finally reached a legitimate level of accord with her father. Tig was being truly supportive for what felt like the very first time, he still didn’t approve of the crow around her neck but he wanted her to stay, that much had been obvious no matter what he’d said out loud. Leila knew the man well enough to read between the lines and no matter how many times Tig said the words “I never wanted this for you,” he still wanted her near him. Leila, for her part, wouldn’t mind hanging around for awhile to get to know her father from an adult perspective. 

The Scot was a whole other bag of emotional turmoil. Leila had no idea how Chibs felt about her, he blew hot then cold on a daily basis and his constant mood swings were starting to get to her. When she’d met him, Chibs had been all cocky swagger and knowing looks, after the strip club shootout he’d gone protective and Leila had to give him credit for walking her through her anger with a maturity she didn’t have herself. Since the funeral, however, he’d been all puppy dog eyes and hard drinking. They hadn’t touched since the gentle love making of that night and Leila had certainly been missing his steadying influence. She doesn’t love him, not yet, but there was more potential there than she’d ever had before. Under his loud, untamed exterior she knew the Scot had a soft heart and Leila couldn’t help but feel honored that he’d let her in to see it. 

“I knew I’d find you here,” Gemma’s voice startles Leila out of her daze and she stares up at the older woman. 

“How’s that?” Leila wonders how the queen gets away with acting like she knows everything. 

“I used to find your mother like this, not in a graveyard mind you, but in the same position. Silent and brooding. It’s not attractive Leila.” The old lady settles herself onto the ground and leans against another stone. “What’s wrong this time baby? The big stuff is over now, we’ve made a sort of peace with the Mayans, your daddy is all better, and your charges were dropped; so what’s the problem?” 

“I have no idea.” 

“Come here.” Gemma holds out one arm and Leila scoots over to her settling against her side. It’s an embrace familiar from childhood. “It’s the Scot isn’t it, and that boy from Salt Lake. I’m not stupid girl you liked that blonde whimp even if you weren’t giving it up and now’s he’s knocked up someone else and you’re all tangled up with Chibs. You don’t know whether to stay or to go. Am I right?” Of course she was. Leila just stares straight ahead, she doesn’t know what to say and she can feel the old urge to let someone else make decisions for her rearing its ugly head. 

“Listen baby,” Gemma starts again and Leila can tell from the tone of her voice the queen is going to lay down the law as only she can. “Things never would have worked out with the surfer, he’s too good, too timid. Whether you like it or not you’re SAMCRO, you’ve more than proven it the last few days. No one but Tigger’s kid could do what you’ve done and make it out the other side whole and still mostly sane.” Leila glances up at Gemma’s face searching for the joke but all she finds is a rare spark of honesty in the other woman’s eyes. “I don’t think I could have done it. Not killing Jorge like you did, Clay said you were fearless, I think he wishes you had a dick so we could patch you in.” Leila snorts in laughter at the idea. 

“You could have done it Gemma, you still might have to with the way the life is.” Leila scratches uncomfortably at her cast. 

“Yea, you’re probably right,” the bitch never said she was humble and they both chuckle at her confident tone. “Look Leila, you and I, we may have our moments but you’re family and family is always welcome. You want to stay, you stay and we’ll be happy to have you but don’t stay for anyone. Chibs would be good for you I think but there are other men who’d be better and Tig, Jesus, Tig is a disaster of a man but he loves you. Those things are important, but you ran from us three years ago on instinct, now it’s time to make a choice for yourself. You stay for you or you go for you but you need to do it for Leila, not SAMCRO.” Leila wonders what happened to the real Gemma. 

“I think hell is freezing over.” Gemma laughs, presses a kiss to Leila’s head and moves to stand. 

“They’re almost the same words I said to your mama when she came to me crying her eyes out and clutching a positive EPT. She chose to stay.” With that little divulgence Gemma turns to go and Leila is left alone with her thoughts. She stares for a long moment at the headstone before her trying to imagine the strong Margaret Carson she remembers, scared and begging Gemma for help. Her mother had obviously made her decision and she’d lived with it, carrying herself with a confidence and grace Leila wishes she could emulate. Leila lets her mind wander over Tig, Chibs, Gemma, Clay, Jax, Bobby, Juice, Opie, and Piney; she can see their laughing faces in her mind, their smiles, their pain and triumph. Being a part of all that again had been heartbreaking, joyful, amazing. 

Leila pulls out her phone and dials the number she knows by heart, “Hey Mark, we’ve got to talk.” 

* * *

It is New Years Eve and she’s standing on the roof of the clubhouse with the rest of the MC watching the Charming fireworks display color the world. She is warm, wrapped up as she is in the arms of her favorite foreigner. Chibs’ chin is resting on her should as he holds her from behind and Leila can feel the slight jump of his body at every new explosion. 

Tig has his arm around Bobby and the two men are more than drunk on champagne, belting out Auld Lange Syne over everything else. Gemma is leaning on Jax, her hand wrapped tightly in Clay’s. Opie brought Donna and they’re leaning against the rooftop AC unit completely absorbed in their baby daughter. Piney is watching his granddaughter’s sleeping face change colors with the flashes overhead. Juice and the remaining nomads and out-of-towners are lounged around the rest of the roof. 

Everyone’s eyes are on the sky but Leila keeps her own gaze grounded. Monday she will start the long process of cleaning out Tig’s off site apartment, he’d handed her the keys and lease that morning. She was going to have to go back to Salt Lake to pick up her things and settle up with Mark at the shop. He’d expressed an interest in opening a second location in Lodi with her as a partner and they needed to get the franchise paperwork started. Clay has his first president-to-president sit down with Alvarez tomorrow and it seems like the new year might bring peace to SAMCRO. Either way, Leila is nervous about her decision to stay and she knows there will be breakdowns and tears before things really settle into place but those are all thoughts for another time. Tonight she is surrounded by her family and that’s more than enough to be getting on with. 


End file.
